Dissident
by giuli miadi black
Summary: A Dauntless leader and a former Stiff walk into a bar. (Or, "The One With the Unexpected Alliance".) / The sequel to "Ambivalent". Eris, slight AU, rated M
1. Chapter 1

**Dissident**

 _adjective_ dis·si·dent \\-dənt\

disagreeing especially with an established religious or political system, organization, or belief

* * *

 **One**

 _(t-minus 21)_

She walks into the Bar alone. It's a little past seven, too early for the place to be crowded, and I doubt I'd be able to see her make a beeline for the counter if it wasn't so. I watch her climb onto a stool and read the menu, looking abso-fucking-lutely lost as her eyes scan the list of cocktails.

I'm not sure why I do it, but I find myself walking up to her. She doesn't notice me, even as I take the seat next to hers. I never thought I'd say that, but, from this distance, I can see how pretty she looks tonight. The whole 'heavy mascara and dark red lips' look makes her look a lot less like a child - and _a lot_ more like a Dauntless woman.

There's a slight chance I wouldn't have bullied her so much if I'd seen her looking like _this_ during her initiation.

"Drinking alone, Stiff?"

She looks up from the menu. I can't help smiling when I see the surprise and confusion in her grey-blue eyes. I don't blame her; I don't think we've had a single friendly interaction in the whole year since she transferred to Dauntless.

"Leave me alone, Eric."

Normally, those words would only encourage me to push her further, until she's pissed at me enough to walk out. Tonight, though, I decide to actually do as I'm told. Everything about her suggests that I'm nothing but a minor annoyance, and that gives me the feeling that her being alone at the Bar is just the tip of an iceberg of wrongness. Even the Stiff needs some space every now and then.

I shift in my seat, moving slightly away from her. Carl the Bartender approaches me before I even need to summon him.

"The usual?"

I nod, and it takes him literally five seconds to come back with a glass of whiskey. The best part of being a faction leader has got to be the effect it has on other people. They're always so eager to please me that, most of the time, they're willing to go an extra mile or two - and, usually, I don't even need to ask them to do so. Carl is probably the best example of this phenomenon - I doubt he knows what most of his regulars would call 'the usual', but he knows exactly what I like and how I like it, and I don't even come here as often as some of them.

Sometimes I forget this is not how people treat everyone else.

I sip at my drink, allowing its warmth to spread over my body. All perks aside, even my job sucks sometimes, and today has been particularly awful. I spent the whole morning stuck in the training room with Number Boy, who was acting even more unpleasantly than his usual self. After that, I had an everlasting meeting with the Stiff leaders, including Daddy Eaton and Daddy Prior - who somehow manage to piss me off even more than their whelp, even when I'm having an otherwise good day. The cherry on top was a huge argument with Max and Jeanine that almost ended in a physical fight.

Just thinking about it gives me a headache.

I place the empty glass on the counter and get off my seat. As awful as I feel, I know getting drunk alone won't make it any better, and ordering a third glass of whiskey before eight is the kind of decision that can only lead to getting drunk.

Before I walk away, Tris speaks up. It's so sudden that it takes me a few seconds to realize she's talking to me.

"Four and I broke up."

"You and Four did what?" I turn on my heels so I can face her. I know that's probably not the most eloquent - or helpful - response, but I honestly don't know what to say. That was nowhere near what I was expecting to hear.

"I don't know why I'm telling you that," she continues, clearly ignoring me. "I just... I need to talk to someone and Christina wouldn't understand and Uri and Lene and Lynn are his friends too, and I'm... Fuck, I'm talking to _you_."

I stare at her for a few seconds, trying to decide what to do. I don't know why I care about what she's saying, but I suspect it's because I know how she feels. My whole life has been a whole lot of feeling like shit while also feeling like there's no one I could go to for help.

"Well. That surely calls for a drink."

"I've already tried that."

She gives me a faint smile, tilting her head towards the pint of beer on the counter. It looks like she just chose to settle with the safest bet - the cheapest beer on the menu - only to find out, a few sips later, that it actually tastes like piss.

"Well, I wouldn't call that 'trying'. Come here."

I take her to a table at the corner, in one of those spots where you get to watch almost everyone in the room while also having lots of privacy. Erin the Waitress approaches our table right after I take my seat. I don't even give her the chance to greet us before I order.

"I'll have a bottle of whiskey and a blue lagoon for the girl. And some fries."

"What exactly is a blue lagoon?" Tris asks, the second Erin turns her back to us.

I laugh. "You're gonna like it. Trust me."

"Sure. Trust the guy who hung your friend over the chasm. That could never go wrong."

"You can either trust me or find someone else to talk to. What's it gonna be?"

She hesitates, biting her lower lip. Then, with a sigh, she says something I'd never thought I'd hear her say to me.

"Fine. I trust you."

"Are you that desperate?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

We don't say anything until Erin comes back. Tris stares at her drink for a few seconds, looking at the bright blue liquid like she's convinced it's poisonous. Then, remembering she promised she'd trust me, she takes a small sip.

"Maybe you were right." She smiles at me.

I swear to god the list of things I'll never hear from her now includes only phrases like 'I love you' and 'please fuck me'.

"I'm glad you think so." I flash her a cocky smile. "Now that we've established that I'm trustworthy, can I ask you why the fuck you're talking to me, in the first place?"

"I told you, I'm desperate. Christina wouldn't understand what I'm going through. She and Will have been dating for a year and they haven't left the honeymoon phase. As for the others, I don't want to force them to pick sides."

"Bullshit." I sound so harsh even I am shocked by my lack of tact. "You're just being a Stiff and looking for excuses to keep your problems to yourself. I'm sure Christina's the kind of friend who would understand if you _murdered_ someone. As for the others, they'll pick sides, anyway. That's what happens every time a couple breaks up." I shrug. "The truth is, you just don't want to bother anyone. Which leads us back to, why are you bothering _me_?"

"I don't know." She runs her hand over her hair. Her eyes find mine, and she gives me a sheepish smile. "Maybe it's because you're the only person I know who hates him as much as I do now."

I can't deny that sparked my interest. I couldn't care less about teenage drama, but I'd be lying if I said that I didn't love hearing those words coming from the head of Four's official fan club.

"What happened?"

She doesn't reply at first. I'm aware that she's probably trying to figure out how to answer my question without opening up to me, so I just wait, playing with the amber liquid in my glass, until she speaks.

"You know, people act like the Abnegation are all the same, but that's actually far from the truth. Four and I did grow up in the same faction, but we're two wildly different people. We have different morals, goals, priorities... Everything. Even our reasons for leaving Abnegation were different. But we love each other, so we've been trying to work around that for the past year, and that - _we_ \- worked for a while, until-" She sighs. "Until it didn't. Suddenly, it was like we were living two completely separate stories, and that doesn't sound like a healthy relationship, does it? Then, he made this huge, life-changing decision without so much as asking me for my opinion, like it wouldn't matter, and that... That's a Stiff relationship, and a miserable one at that. That's not the kind of relationship I want to have."

I take a sip of my drink, trying to think of something I could possibly say to her. For my whole life, I've been either the broken-hearted or the heartbreaker. I've never been the one who gets to help mending a broken heart.

And I don't even know why I took this role, anyway.

"I know that's not gonna make you feel any better, but I think you've made the most logical decision."

She looks at me with that curiosity I'm used to seeing in her eyes. I hadn't noticed that before, but that look feels like home - or, at least, like the place I called 'home' for most of my life.

"That's very Erudite of you."

"Considering how much Four likes to hold my past over my head, I'm surprised you keep forgetting I'm as Dauntless as you are." I sip at my whiskey and refill my glass, giving her a few seconds to move beyond Four's name and process the whole sentence. "I was born and raised in Erudite, remember?"

"Yeah, but you're usually the personification of Dauntless."

"Dauntless acts like me, Tris, not the other way around." Saying her name feels weird. I don't think I've ever called her anything but 'Stiff', even when I was talking about her with someone else. "But, no, I didn't leave my old faction behind. Actually, Max loves to bully me by pointing out how much of a Nose I still am. Sometimes, it feels like the only reason why they haven't kicked me out of leadership yet is the fact that I'm smarter than all of them combined."

She narrows her eyes. "Are you opening up to me, Eric?"

"Let's just say it felt like this was the only logical choice I had." I push the bowl full of fries towards her. "You should eat something. Put your liver to work a bit."

That sharp curiosity comes back to her eyes, but she doesn't say anything. I watch her as she grabs a French fry and takes a tentative bite at it.

"You know, I always thought Max kissed your ass."

"Oh, Max loves me, and he sure was thrilled to finally hand initiation over to someone else. But I have the feeling he and the other leaders aren't okay with the fact that I'm supposed to be more than a glorified babysitter. We're always saying that age doesn't matter in Dauntless, but the truth is, sometimes I feel that even my peers have doubts about my ability to lead this faction."

"Don't you?"

"I can't waste my time second-guessing myself, Stiff. I'm too busy proving them wrong."

"You mean like when you turned initiation into a brutal competition that resulted in a stabbed eye, a murder attempt, and a suicide?"

There's an edge of defiance in her tone, and it makes me almost forget she's not Erudite-born. That part of my brain that actually enjoyed the clever remarks from my former faction - and the sharp comebacks from Dauntless - revels in her wit. I wish I could answer in kind, but, unfortunately, she's just asked me a question about that one subject I'm supposed to avoid at all costs.

"First of all, Four is as responsible for it as I am. Second, I did what I had to do."

"What does that mean?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Every question that can be answered must be answered or at least engaged."

I lean in closer to her. It's official, she intrigues me. Her fighting skills may be shitty, but she's Dauntless through and through, and that's not the kind of person I'd expect to quote the _Erudite_ faction manifesto.

I don't think I'd have given in if she'd tried _anything else_.

"Fair enough." I give her the faintest smile. "I wholeheartedly believe I did what was best for my faction, but, at the end of the day, I was just following orders. That's all I can tell you on that subject." I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. "Did I _engage_ enough for you?"

She doesn't reply. Instead, she finishes her drink and eats a few more French fries. Erin promptly shows up with a new glass of blue lagoon for Tris, taking the opportunity to check up on us. It takes me one annoyed look to dismiss her.

"I heard you were working as a tattoo artist," I say, trying to steer the conversation away from my own job. "How's it been?"

"It's amazing." Her face lights up and her whole posture changes, like just talking about it is enough to make her forget how shitty her day's been. "Tori's the best boss, and I get to meet lots of different people and make amazing things for them, and... I love it."

"I can see that." I smile at her. "I must say, though, I still think you should have picked the assistant position Max offered you. A girl like you would probably have made it to leader in only a few years."

"Honestly, the idea of working with you was a major drawback."

I laugh. Her straightforwardness makes me wonder if she's already starting to get drunk, although I know she hasn't had _that_ much to drink yet. I briefly consider trying to stop her before she gets fully wasted - I'm all for free will, but she's having a bad day and I wouldn't like to be held responsible for anything stupid the night leads her to.

"My _colleagues_ seem to think I'm pleasant enough."

"I don't think 'pleasant' is a word many people would use to describe you."

"Oh, come on. Why does Four deserve the benefit of the doubt and I don't? I've been nothing but nice to you the whole night."

"Four didn't hang my best friend over the chasm to prove a point."

"Maybe not, but have you ever wondered why he's still on probation? He managed to break _every single rule_ he was supposed to follow last year. He pointed a loaded gun at an initiate's head with the sole intention of intimidating him, which, strictly speaking, is pretty much the same thing I did with Christina. He neglected his initiates to the point that people, you included, actually got hurt because he couldn't be bothered to keep an eye on you when you weren't in his training room. Al _died_ because Four failed to notice he'd been showing signs of suicidal behaviour since the day he got here. He bullies his initiates almost as much as I do, to the point that _you_ punched him because he crossed a line. That happened _again_ today, by the way. But, please, keep telling me how amazing and flawless Number Boy is." She opens her mouth to say something, but I interrupt her. "You think I'm a bully, but so is he. You accept anything he does and you keep telling yourself that his backstory justifies everything, but have you ever bothered asking me about mine? Do you know what it's like to be a faction leader when you're _sixteen_ , Stiff? Do you know what it's like to know that, three years later, the other leaders still think you're not up to the task? I spent my whole _life_ preparing for initiation because I've _always_ wanted to be like Max, but Mighty _Four_ got all the spotlights on his _first night_ because of something I couldn't even control. I ended up as Max's backup plan, and he's _never_ tried to pretend otherwise. I've spent the past three years of my life trying to prove everyone around me that I _am_ Dauntless and that I deserve all I have, and I did it the only way I could think of. And I guarantee you, Stiff, that if you or your precious Four would walk a fucking mile in my fucking shoes you'd find yourselves being just as _ruthless_ as I am."

I can't believe I've just told her all these things. I can't believe I bared my soul and showed vulnerability to _her_ , of all people. There's a huge part of me that would like to get up and leave - that's how ashamed I'm feeling. But she's staring at me, and I can tell she's trying to process everything I've said, trying to consider all the possible ramifications. I know there's only one logical outcome for it, and my pride demands that I stay long enough to watch her apologize to me.

It feels like years have passed before she finally speaks again. Just as I expected, she rests her hand over mine, looking into my eyes as she says, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, whatever." I do my best to sound nonchalant, but this is the kind of victory that gives me an almost orgasmic pleasure. When we go back to hating each other, this will be the moment I'll replay every time she makes me feel like punching her. "You know what pisses me off the most? He screwed you over more than anyone else, and you still spent the past year following him around like a puppy."

Her grey-blue eyes narrow. I know that expression - it's what an Erudite looks like whenever they're forced to face their ignorance on a subject.

"What are you talking about?"

I smile at her - that malicious, arrogant smile that always makes her look at me in distaste. Someone once told me that revenge feels sweeter when you can't see it coming, and right now I couldn't agree more.

Precious Four screwed up - big time.

"He didn't tell you, did he?"

"Tell me what?"

"That we almost revoked your rank because of your relationship."

Her eyes widen and her jaw drops.

"You almost did _what_?"

"Oh, you know, generic fears have generic people, so, when _Four_ showed up in your fear landscape, that was a red flag. A big one. I mean, in case you don't know, instructors aren't supposed to hook up with initiates. But we thought, 'this is Four and _Seven_ we're talking about, so maybe we should let it slide as long as no one else finds out'. Then you decided to make out in front of the whole faction before initiation was formally over, and... Well, let's just say we had to spend _the whole fucking day_ reviewing your reports and watching all of your simulations to make sure he hadn't been cheating to help you, until we all came to the conclusion that you were better at the sims than him, so there was no way in hell he'd been responsible for your performance."

"Did he know any of that?"

"He and Max had a little chat about that before we wrapped up the _investigation_. So, yeah, I'd say he did."

She looks so angry, for a second I swear I was expecting her to slap me. Then, she starts crying, so uncontrollably that it takes her just a few seconds to escalate to full-on sobbing and curling up in a ball on her chair. I'm not sure what I did wrong, but I feel responsible for her reaction, and I find myself moving over to the chair by her side and wrapping my arms around her shoulders, resting her head against my chest.

At first, that seems to make her feel even worse, but eventually she starts to calm down. I keep holding her, trying to ignore the fact that being nice to her in such a public place threatens my reputation. Despite what I've just said to her, I _like_ being seen as the 'ruthless leader', and I got this title by never letting anyone in this faction see that I'm capable of niceness.

Erin seems to decide this is an appropriate time to approach our table again. She says something but, seeing as I can't be bothered to pay attention to her, she just shrugs and walks away without another word. The interruption makes Tris pull away from me, wiping her cheeks on her sleeves.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. It's barely audible and she doesn't reply, but I know, by the way her expression softens, that she heard it. It seems she'll have her own orgasmic victory to remember, after all. "How are you feeling?" I do my best to sound nice and caring. Judging by her half-smile, I was marginally successful.

"Like shit," she says, with a sigh. I push her glass towards her, and she sips at it before speaking again. "I love him, Eric. The worst part of this whole thing is that I love him."

"I know." I wrap my arms around her shoulders again, pulling her closer to me. Her body feels small, fragile, un-Dauntless, and I find myself hating Four for doing this to the girl I hate because of her indomitable fierceness.

But I don't hate her right now. More than that: I don't want this night to end. And I know that, after all I've just said, there's only one way to delay the end.

"Wanna do shots?"

She laughs. "Are you trying to get me drunk, Eric?"

"Come on, Tris. Live a little. Have some fun. Let me show you what Dauntless is truly about."

"Fine. But only if you promise you'll make sure I get home in one piece when we're done here."

"I promise."

I get up and drag her back to the bar, leaving what's left of our drinks and fries behind. One glare makes the couple on the stools closest to us get up and walk away, and I help Tris get on her seat before waving for Carl.

"We'd like some tequila."

Carl raises an eyebrow, smiling mischievously at me. I can't tell how many times I've used this exact strategy to take a girl home with me, and he surely expects me to do the same to Tris. But I won't. I don't see her this way.

She does look gorgeous tonight, though.

Carl lines up six shot glasses in front of us, filling them all to the brim. Tris stares at the glasses like she has no idea what to do with them.

"Ever done that?" I ask. She laughs.

"That's a stupid question, don't you think?"

"Maybe." I laugh and reach for the glass closest to me. "Watch me." After a moment of hesitation, I lean in closer to her and say, almost teasingly, "And remember, Stiff, spitters are quitters."

I down the tequila and slam my glass on the bar. It burns my throat, but three years of practice have taught me how to hide the fact that the first couple of shots always make me feel like I'm dying inside.

She reaches for a glass. Her hand is shaking slightly, but her expression displays the fierce determination of a Dauntless facing the unknown. She tilts her head back and empties the glass in her mouth, but I can tell by her expression that she didn't swallow it right away. There's so much regret in her watering eyes that I almost apologize.

"That. Was. Awful." She shakes her head like it could possibly make her feel better.

I spent a year finding pleasure in making her suffer, but even my deepest, most sadistic fantasies weren't as satisfying as watching her getting defeated by a shot of tequila.

So, I do what anyone in my position would do - I offer her another glass.

"Wanna try again?"

She looks at me, tilting her head like she's about to ask me if I'm deaf or something. Then, her Dauntlessness kicks in and she gives me a wide smile before saying, "Hell, yes."

"Bottoms up, babe," I say, before we both down our drinks at the same time.

"Still awful," she announces. "Do people really _enjoy_ that?"

"Yup." I laugh, reaching over the bar and grabbing a salt shaker and a bowl of lime wedges. "Here, try this."

She looks at me like she's sure I'm insane. "How are _salt_ and _lime_ going to make it any better?"

"Just trust me, okay? Give me your hand."

She rolls her eyes and places her hand on mine. I stare into her eyes, waiting for her reaction as I gently lick the skin between her thumb and index finger. She breathes in deeply, giving me a Stiff half-smile. I pour some salt over her skin.

"Lick it. Do the shot. Bite the lime. Thank me later."

She raises her eyebrow, but I just stare at her, like I'm daring her to obey. That seems to do the trick, because she frees her hand from mine, studying the trail of salt over her skin as I hand her the glass.

Something in the self-conscious way she looks away from me as she licks her own hand makes me wonder if she knows how hot she is. She may not be the prettiest girl I've ever seen, but initiation gave her an amazing body and, beyond that, there's also that Dauntless aura, that attitude of someone who's unbreakable. And she's also smart as fuck, which appeals to everything I spent my life hearing I should find attractive.

The little Stiff girl who joined Dauntless a year ago has all but disappeared, leaving behind a woman who could just as easily fill each and every one of my deepest fantasies.

"Thank you," she says, shoving the discarded lime wedge into the empty glass.

"My pleasure."

We stare into each other's eyes for a while. She looks like she's trying to read my mind, and, frankly, I'm glad she can't - I'm sure she wouldn't like knowing all the things I suddenly find myself wishing I could do to her.

"I want to try something," I say. "Get up."

She slides from her seat. I grab her waist, pulling her close to me so she's standing between my legs. I wrap my left hand around her hair, gently pulling at it so she tilts her head slightly to the side. She rests her hands on my thighs as I reach for the salt shaker.

I lean in closer to her, my mouth against her ear as I whisper, "Don't move." I pull the neck of her shirt a little to the side and kiss the space between her neck and her shoulder. I could swear she lets out a small moan when I lick her skin.

I pour some salt over that spot and turn to the counter to grab the last shot glass, my left hand still holding her hair away from her neck. I look down at her cleavage and she gives me a reassuring smile and nods. We stare into each other's eyes as I place the glass between her breasts, and she dutifully places a lime wedge between her lips.

I don't resist the urge to bite her neck after I lick the salt off her skin. She moans softly against my ear - this time, there's no doubt about that. My fingers brush against the skin of her chest when I grab the glass, and I slam it on the bar as I lean in close to her so I can get the lime from her mouth.

She doesn't move, even though I've let go of her hair. I throw the lime wedge somewhere on the counter, not daring to move my eyes away from hers. She takes a deep breath and closes the distance between us, her lips meeting mine as her hands travel up to my neck.

We kiss passionately, desperately, like we've been waiting for this since the day we first met. For the first time ever, I don't care about what I'm doing or why I'm doing. The only thing that exists in the world is Tris and the feeling of her body against mine and the soft moans she lets out as my mouth travels down her neck.

"Maybe we should go somewhere else," she whispers in my ear. I don't want to go anywhere. I don't want to move away, even for a second.

But she's right. We're in a public place, and even the Dauntless have their limits on PDA. The last sliver of rationality that's left in my brain reminds me that there are cameras everywhere here, and the odds of Zeke being on duty tonight are pretty high - which means that there's a chance Four's been watching us for a while now. I've always loved rubbing my victories on his face, but I've already won enough for the day.

Maybe I am getting mellow.

I grab her by the hand and drag her out of the bar. Thankfully, everyone is so used to making way for me that we don't have to battle our way through the crowd, so we find ourselves back at the Pit in only a few seconds.

I stop, leaning against the wall and pulling her close to me again. She looks up at me. From this angle, she looks _angelic_.

I struggle to focus on the task of finding a place to take her. Our apartments are the obvious choice, but they're further than I'd like to go. On the other hand, most of the compound has cameras everywhere, and I wouldn't want to waste the time necessary to find any blind spots.

"You have a roommate?" I realize about halfway through that this is a stupid question. Of course she has a roommate. I'd be lucky if that isn't Four.

She leans closer to me. " _Christina_."

"I don't suppose she'd be too pleased to wake up tomorrow to find out I spent the night at her place."

"Nope." She smiles at me. There's something about her attitude that makes me feel like she's daring me to take her home, and I've never been one to falter when dared.

"My place, then?"

She kisses me again, nibbling on my earlobe before she whispers, "That sounds fantastic."

I wrap my hand around her hair and pull at it, making her stare at me again. She has that same expression I've seen hundreds of times, like she's not used to being treated this way and she's _loving_ it.

"We're not going anywhere if you don't stop teasing me," I warn her. She gives me a small nod and steps back. I feel glad that she doesn't meet my bossy attitude with defiance - that means we're probably on the same page in this.

I lead her down the fastest route back to my apartment. I've done this countless times, some of them even bringing girls home with me, but I've never felt the sense of urgency I'm feeling right now.

Fuck, I _need_ her.

I barely have the time to close my front door before we're kissing again. She takes my shirt off, throwing it on the couch, and I push her against the stone wall, pulling her legs up so they're wrapped around my waist. I bite her neck, gently at first, then just hard enough to leave a light bruise behind when I stop. Her nails dig into my skin as she moans softly into my ear, and I'm so aware of all the layers of fabric between us, but we can't undress any further - not like this, at least.

At some point between deciding to take her to my bedroom and actually doing it, that rational side of my brain that never goes away reminds me that this is _Tris_ , and she's not like all the other girls.

"Two questions," I say, breathlessly. Speaking seems to take an enormous amount of effort, but I know I'll regret not asking these later. "One, are you a virgin?"

"What? No!" She looks shocked, but, thankfully, it doesn't look like she's uncomfortable or offended. Maybe she's not that Stiff, after all.

"Good." I bite her earlobe as I whisper, "Two, are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"I'm about to have rebound sex with the guy my ex hated the most." She smiles innocently at me. "I'm not that drunk, you know."

Rationally, I know she's probably just as drunk as I think she is. But she leans in closer, her lips brushing against my skin as she whispers in my ear, "Fuck me, Eric. Please," and just like that, fulfilling her wish is the only thing I can think about.

I carry her to my bedroom and drop her on the bed. That obnoxious, wonderful defiance comes back to her eyes as she pulls her shirt over her head, and I can't do anything but stare at the ravens on her collarbone and the stark contrast between her black bra and her milky skin.

She's beautiful, she's sexy, she's _mine_.

I pull her hair again, exposing her neck to me, and kiss her tattoos while my free hand unclasps her bra. She moans softly when my mouth finds her nipple, and she rewards me with her nails digging into my back when I begin nibbling at it.

She runs her hands down my body, leaving a trail of scratches that would probably hurt like hell if I wasn't so aroused. Looking into my eyes and biting her lower lip in a tantalizing way, she unbuttons my pants. We both look down when she wraps her hand around my cock.

It takes me a few seconds to decide what I'd like to do to her. I usually follow some kind of script with the girls I bring home - I get them to give me a blowjob, then I play with them for _just long enough_ before I fuck them. But right now, it all sounds like an awful waste of time. I need to know what it feels like to be in her, and I need it _now_.

I push her back on the bed, using her wrists to pin her down with one hand while I unbutton her pants with the other. I remove all of her remaining clothes at once, and I finish undressing myself before lying on top of her. She wraps her legs around my waist. The few seconds rummaging through the drawer on my bedside table until I find a condom are probably the longest of my life.

I lower my body over hers, slowly, enjoying the feeling of her opening up for me. In that moment, her moan is probably the sweetest sound I've ever heard.

"You can tell me to stop if I hurt you," I tell her as I grab her wrists again. Standing still is almost painful, but I only move again when she nods.

I start slow, speeding up just a little bit every time she begins looking like she's fine with the current pace, until I can see in her eyes that she's reached that line between being in ecstasy and being in pain. At some point along the way, she stopped moaning, but her heavy breathing is rewarding enough for me.

Our eyes meet and she smiles at me, like she wants to reassure me she's enjoying it. God, she's perfect.

My name escapes her lips, and I know she's close to orgasm. I've never made a girl come before I did, but somehow it feels fitting that she'd be my first. I keep up the pace until I feel her body stiffen under mine. She screams my name, and it's all that it takes to send me over the edge.

I let go of her hands and she wraps her arms around my shoulders. I stay inside her for a while. I'm too tired, she feels too amazing.

"Best revenge fuck ever," I whisper as I move my body away from hers. I throw the condom away and pull her close to me. Her body feels just right against mine, and as I doze off, that nagging part of my brain tells me that there's still one thing left on the list of things I wouldn't expect her to say to me.

Maybe, just maybe, I'd like to hear it.

* * *

 **A/N:** Due to popular demand, I decided to try my hand at writing a sequel for "Ambivalent". I didn't want to waste the most fitting name I've ever picked for a story, so I'll be keeping it as a stand-alone story, but the title wasn't as fitting for the master plot, and I felt uneasy with starting a story on Chapter 2, so Chapter 1 was just a repost.

Reviews are greatly appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

 _(t-minus 20)_

She's still in my bed when I wake up the next morning. For a few minutes, I refuse to get up, trying to process what happened last night and how I'm supposed to deal with it. I wasn't even that drunk - in fact, I wasn't drunk at all -, but I somehow thought it'd be a good idea to fuck _Tris_.

The reward for that stupid decision is that, for the first time in over a year, I'm waking up next to someone. And, as if the whole 'morning after' thing wasn't hard enough, she's likely to expect me to be nice and caring and - god forbid - romantic.

I'm none of those. I don't want to be.

I sneak out of the bed and, grabbing my pants from the floor, walk out of the bedroom. Once dressed, I make my way to the kitchen, where I take my time brewing us some coffee. I know she'd probably like it if I brought her breakfast in bed or something, but I couldn't be romantic even if I wanted to - the only thing in my fridge is a six-pack of beer.

She's still sound asleep when I get back, and as I climb back onto the bed, I do my best not to wake her. I can't help staring at her naked body - this is likely to be the last chance I'll ever get to stare unabashedly at her ass, so I'd better enjoy it while I can.

I remember the first time I saw her, a tiny, skinny girl dressed in grey clothes a few sizes too big for her. I remember being told she'd been the first jumper, and I remember thinking it didn't make her any less of a coward, because only a coward would look as afraid of me as she did. I remember having to admit to myself - as she knocked out a girl bigger than her, as she stood still when Four threw knives at her, as she challenged me at every chance that she got - that she was in fact Dauntless, even if she didn't look like one.

But she does now. Actually, she looks a lot like all the other girls I've slept with in the past two years.

Except that none of them had Abnegation hands tattooed on their shoulder.

For some reason, it makes me think of Jeanine and her theory about Tris being Divergent. I've never taken that too seriously - Jeanine is always seeing signs of Divergence in everyone - but, after last night, I wonder if she's right. Tris is too selfless, too brave, too smart. There's no way she has only one aptitude, but I've never heard of anyone with _three_.

She's too illogical.

There's no point in wondering about it, though. In three weeks, I'll have all the confirmation I could possibly need - about her and Number Boy and all the other people I've been keeping under my watch.

Besides, Divergent or not, Tris is a liability, and I've claimed her as mine months ago. Before the attack on Abnegation is over, I'll put a bullet in her head, just like I've been fantasizing about for the last year.

I close my eyes and I can almost see her, kneeling on the floor in front of me, the defiance in her grey-blue eyes slowly fading away as submission and acceptance take over. I can almost hear her begging me for mercy - _Eric, please_ \- and the thought of hearing those words again brings me so much pleasure it almost - _almost_ \- makes me hard.

I have to admit, sleeping with her certainly complicates things. Yesterday, all I wanted was to press a gun against her forehead; today, I'd be more than happy with my cock in her mouth.

Just as I decide to brush these thoughts aside, my alarm clock starts ringing. She doesn't move a single muscle, but I know, just by the slight shift in her breathing, that she's awake.

I've been through my share of waking up on a stranger's bed, and I know what it feels like to need a few minutes to remember how I got there. In fact, I hate this feeling to the point that I decided, ages ago, I'd stop spending the night in someone else's bed.

So, I just wait for her to say something, sipping at my coffee as I watch her.

"Hey," she whispers, her eyes still closed. Her voice is heavy with sleep, but even that can't hide the hint of sweetness in it - it almost feels like she thinks she's with Four.

Just the thought of it makes me feel sick.

"Hey," I reply, half-expecting her to jump away when she recognizes my voice. Much to my surprise, she rolls over and smiles at me like this is exactly the situation she was expecting to see when she opened her eyes.

Oh, _fuck_.

"I got you some coffee," I say, fully aware of how distant I sound. I've never been so uncomfortable near a girl before, not even when I was a virgin - truth be told, even _that_ morning after wasn't this bad, and I did lose my virginity on Max's couch, in a haze fuelled by cocaine and vodka. "I don't have any sugar or milk or anything, but I guess we could break into Max's if you want some."

She laughs and sits up, wrapping my blanket around her body as she leans against the headboard. I realize, although it's clearly too late, that offering her something to wear would have been nice - in an entirely harmless way.

"It's okay; I don't like any of that, either."

We drink our coffees in silence, and I'm sure she's feeling at least as uncomfortable as I am. I've had plenty of one-night stands, but I'd be surprised if she told me she slept with anyone other than Four - in fact, I'm still a bit surprised that she _did_ sleep with him.

"What time is it?"

"A quarter past six, why?"

"I never thought you were an early bird."

I sigh. In an ideal world, I would _never_ set foot out of my apartment before noon, but I chose to get a job that requires a fuck-ton of sacrifice - including being at the training room at eight in the morning so I can spend my whole day with Number Boy and his pathetic initiates.

"Trust me, hanging Christina over the chasm would be tame compared to what would happen if I didn't punch something _before_ spending a day with _Four_."

"Why do you have to watch him, anyway?"

"He fucked up last year. A lot."

I can't keep the bitterness out of my voice. After everything that happened on his watch - Peter hurting Edward, Tris almost getting killed, Al committing suicide -, I thought Max's unconditional love for Four was over. Then, the two of them spent hours locked in his office, supposedly discussing his relationship with Tris and all of his other fuck-ups and, when they came out, Max was determined to give him a second chance.

And as he so nicely reminded me, all I could do was smile and nod, like a good puppy.

The bastard sure as fuck knows how to separate his personal relationships from his work ones.

"I told you that already. Last night, remember?"

"I remember everything from last night, Eric."

She sounds cold, resentful. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and she emanates annoyance. It takes me a while to realize she's upset because I'm acting like nothing happened.

For someone who once had the second highest IQ in Erudite, I'm surprisingly slow sometimes.

"Did I hurt you?"

" _This_ is your priority?"

"This is the easiest conversation we'll have all day, so I figured we could just get it out of the way."

She looks at me in a way that makes it clear that she's choosing her words carefully. Then, with the same cruel tone I've used on her thousands of times, she says, "Nothing feels broken or bleeding, so I guess it's safe to say you've put me through worse."

"I take it I'm doing initiation right, then?"

"Keep telling yourself that."

I laugh, getting off the bed. I can feel her watching me with that Erudite-like curiosity as I open my closet and grab a T-shirt. I wouldn't have bothered with it if we kept on making small talk, but even I can't have a serious conversation with someone who's wearing a _blanket_.

"Put this on. I think we'll both feel more comfortable if you're wearing _something_."

She gives me a thankful smile when I hand her the shirt, and I walk out of the room to give her some privacy. When she walks into my living room wearing nothing but _my_ shirt - which looks almost like a dress on her - I realize I've made a huge mistake. She looks so fucking sexy in it, I have to make a conscious effort not to rip it off of her.

"So, you want to talk about it. Talk."

"Why are you being such a jerk to me?"

I wasn't prepared for the accusation in her voice. 24 hours ago, this girl thought I was a monster; now, she's upset because I'm living up to her previous expectations.

That's _exactly_ why I don't do mornings after.

"Because I don't think we have anything to say. We got drunk, we fucked, that's it. I've literally done this about a hundred times before, and I'll do it a hundred more. If you have a problem with it, then you're the one who should be talking."

Something in the way she's staring at me reminds me of her fear landscape. Amongst six solid, Dauntless leader-worthy fears, was a Stiff fear - one, at the time, I interpreted as a fear of sex.

I remember laughing at it, thinking that only a silly, Stiff little girl would be afraid of something this stupid. But I can see that same fear in her eyes now, and it makes me realize she wasn't afraid of sex itself. She was afraid of what a guy two years older than her would expect from her, and she was even more afraid of _how_ he'd expect it to happen.

In other words, she was afraid Four would be more like me.

And now she's watching her seventh fear come to life.

I take a deep breath, my brain racing through all the possible approaches at once. As much as I hate to admit it, I don't want to hurt her any more than what's strictly necessary; therefore, being my usual self is out of the question. I also can't be the nice guy she needs and expects, because I don't know how to act like that and, more importantly, because I know that would give her the wrong idea, and she'd end up hurt, anyway.

But there's a third, much safer, possibility: I can meet some of her expectations by not being a total jerk, but I can also protect myself by not being nice. That's one hell of a grey area, but it gives me room for an approach that's never failed me before.

I can be impersonal.

"Do you regret it?"

When she looks up at me, I can see in her grey-blue eyes how torn she must be feeling. It seems fair to assume she enjoyed it, but I could also list a thousand reasons why she'd rather have hated it.

She hates me. In her eyes, I'm a heartless, sadistic monster who tried to kill her friend and who's directly responsible for all the bad things that happened to her in the past year. She'd never allow herself to love me, but she allowed me to fuck her last night, and she truly, deeply believes she should only have sex with the guy she loves. She'd only slept with Four, the guy who was still her boyfriend when she woke up yesterday, and I'd bet they made love the night before the break-up.

No Stiff would ever say that word out loud, but they'd all think she's a tramp who committed the ultimate act of self-indulgence - a dirty whore who slept with two guys in 24 hours. At some point between one and the other, she actually hated us both. She probably still does.

She's such a slut; she might as well stitch a scarlet A into all of her clothes, like in that book.

I feel a surge of sympathy towards her. I wish I could tell her that she's not a slut, that she did nothing wrong, that she's just acting like the reckless, carefree teenager all Dauntless are. But more than that - I wish she'd actually believe me if I said any of that.

"Okay, let's try an easier question," I say, giving her my best attempt at a gentle smile. "Did you like it?"

"That isn't any easier."

"Of course it is. It's an objective question, which requires an objective answer. I'm not asking if you think you shouldn't have liked it, I'm asking if you did, and I know for a fact that you're smart enough to know the difference."

I can see something come to life in her eyes, and I recognize it instantly. She's looking me like an Erudite who's stumbled onto a particularly clever question.

But that's an awful moment to be Erudite. This is the side of her that I find the most attractive, and I can't find her attractive. Not now, not while I'm still trying to handle the consequences of allowing myself to see something likeable in her.

"Nose," she mutters, and, just like that, that glimpse of Eruditeness is gone. I laugh, trying to conceal my relief.

"Look who's talking. We wouldn't be having this conversation if you weren't such a Stiff."

She punches my arm, harder than I expected from her - it actually _hurts_ , and I have to keep myself from flinching.

After all the bullying from last year, there's no way I'd admit to her that she's capable of making me feel pain.

"Fine," I say, with the same bored tone I use with the initiates when they start playing around instead of jumping at each other's throats. I can tell she recognizes it, because her expression turns colder and she glares at me. "I'll go first."

"I thought I was supposed to do the talking."

"So far, you've just been trying to avoid my questions, so I thought I'd answer some of them. You know, as an encouragement."

"I thought your preferred method of _encouragement_ was threatening to throw people out of your faction."

"No, that's just for bratty initiates who need to be put back in her place." I give her my best 'ruthless leader' smile, and she looks down at her lap.

Fuck, she's good. And she doesn't even know it.

"Anyway, as I was saying, I liked it." My voice is nonchalant, emotionless. I'd probably sound more passionate if we were talking about the weather. "You're _much_ better than I expected from a Stiff."

"Well, you're exactly what I expected from a sadistic jerk."

"Should I take it as a compliment?"

Her eyes meet mine again. She looks annoyed, tired, desperate to end this conversation.

"Can't you just... let it go?"

" _You_ wanted to talk about it."

"And why would _you_ care about that?"

I hesitate. The only thing that comes to my mind is 'because I care about you', but that doesn't even make sense. We've had a few moments of pure, unadulterated bonding last night, but that's not enough to explain the way I'm feeling now.

Thankfully, this time she's the one who decides to stop waiting for an answer that's never coming.

"Look. What happened last night... It wasn't what I'm used to doing. I know you must have heard it a thousand times before, from all of your other... girls. But it's the truth. I mean, you're right, I'm a Stiff. I've never had a one-night stand, and I've never had... _rough_ sex." She blushes violently, like those words are sinful on their own. "Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that, honestly, I don't know that I liked it. It was... pleasant enough, I guess? But I'm too overwhelmed by everything else and I can't answer any of those questions because I can't move past the fact that it's _you_."

"So, does that mean you regret it?"

She hesitates, biting her lower lip.

"Yeah, I guess I do."

Her tone is matter-of-factly, objective, _Erudite_.

I don't know why it hurts me, but it does. Right now, I feel exactly the way I did when Four beat me into oblivion and left me to peel myself off the floor.

The silence between us feels suffocating.

I force myself not to break it.

She moves away from me, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around her knees. With a sigh, she throws her head back, resting it on the back of the couch. I watch her for a few seconds, pushing all the negative feelings aside and shoving them into an imaginary box, just like I've done hundreds of times in my fear landscape.

When I speak again, my voice is cold, cutting, cruel.

"I'm going to take a shower. I don't want you here when I come back."

* * *

 **A/N**

I'm sorry for the less than pretty ending, but The Boyfriend convinced me that, while this may not be the ending we wanted, it is the one they needed.

I promise I'll fix everything.

I'm still trying to decide what I'm doing for the next chapter - the immediate aftermath or a time skip -, so it may be a while before I update this, but I promise I won't let this one die. I'm absolutely in love with my plot.

Please review/fave/follow/send pitchforks my way.

\- Giu


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** This chapter is dedicated to F. I'll elaborate in the note at the end.

* * *

 **Three**

 _(t-minus 16)_

Three days fly by almost unnoticed. I let work drown me during the day, claiming for myself every single laborious task I can get my hands on, using them as excuses to avoid Number Boy and the dullness of initiation for as long as I can. At night, I spend so much time working out at the leaders' gym that I have to stumble back home and crash on my own couch when I'm done.

I can't think about her.

Still, she keeps finding her way back into my thoughts, no matter how many times I try to push her aside. She's in the trail of red lines down my back, in the sweet smell that lingers on my pillows, in my assistant's light blond hair. She's in the tension that rises up between Four and me when I'm forced to watch the last day of sparring, in the determination in this year's underdog's eyes, in the way I keep thinking that none of our initiates will ever be as good, as brave, as Dauntless as her. She's in my thoughts, she's in my dreams.

I want her out – I _need_ her out.

The fourth day is a Saturday – and, on top of that, it's Visiting Day. It's my first day off initiation duty but, as much as I'd like to sleep in, I jump out of bed at six. I take a short, cold shower and put on a sweatshirt and a pair of sneakers. My breakfast is an apple I took from the cafeteria last night - no coffee, no cake.

On Saturdays, Dauntless leader Eric stays in bed until noon, giving space to that other side of me, the one I keep hidden at all times.

On Saturdays, I am a Nose. Or as close to one as I can get.

I walk out of the compound through the back door near my apartment, just in time to catch the seven o'clock train. Contrary to popular belief, I do know the train timetables by heart. I just pretend not to because it annoys Four, and annoying Four is my favourite hobby.

Most of the Dauntless are still asleep and the factionless have no business being this close to a faction's headquarters, so the car is empty when I jump in. I grab the handles on both sides of the door and push my body forwards until I can feel the wind whipping against my body, wrapping itself around me with its irresistible, merciless strength.

I feel light and free and _nineteen_.

Finally, I allow myself to think about Tris.

I have twelve fears - thunderstorms, being burned alive, hallucinations, earthquakes, being buried alive, rejection, snakes, public humiliation, getting old, disability, powerlessness, and failure. I count them in groups - one animal, one way to get sabotaged by my own brain, two ways to die, two conditions that could get me out of Dauntless, two proofs of nature's unyielding power, four situations when I don't get the upper hand - but Jeanine prefers to sum them up as a fear of not being in control.

This debate, however, doesn't change the fact that Tris managed to kick me in one - if not more - of them, and being caught off guard by one of your fears is never pleasant, regardless of what they mean. It doesn't matter, either, that I'm usually able to keep my head level under stressful circumstances, because even my coping method requires having some kind of leverage or anticipation.

At first, I thought this was the reason why I felt so awful during those first few minutes after she told me she regretted having slept with me. But the minutes turned into hours and the hours turned into days, and the way I feel about this situation hasn't changed.

I'm still angry. I'm still hurt. I can still feel the uneasiness crawling under my skin whenever I think about her.

I've never felt this way, not even after a ten-hour long bad trip.

As unpleasant as it feels, maybe it's time to stop trying to pretend it's all about a silly little fear that doesn't even make it to my top five. This kind of denial is cowardly and illogical, and I should probably be ashamed of myself for it.

The problem is, accepting that I'm in denial means accepting that I don't care that she regrets it; I just hate her reason for it.

I can still hear her telling me that 'I can't move past the fact that it's _you_ '. Of all the reasons she could possibly have to regret it - including many reasons I'd understand and support -, this is the one she was able to pinpoint.

She regrets it because it's me. After everything I did, after everything I said.

I held her as she cried on my shoulder, I opened up about how miserable I feel at work, I asked - I _begged_ \- her to try to see past my 'ruthless leader' façade, but none of that matters, because I'm still the guy who hung her friend over the chasm one year ago, and I'm still the guy whose guts Four hates.

And that fucking sucks.

The train slows down as it approaches the Erudite compound, and I shove Tris back into her box before I jump off. My destination, at least for now, is an abandoned building a block away from what the city records consider the edge of Erudite's jurisdiction.

I climb up four flights of stairs and stare briefly at the door with a cheap plastic B stuck to it. The doorknob is as old and decayed as the rest of my surroundings, but a careful examination of the lock reveals that it's a later addition - more specifically, it's a five-year-old replacement for the old lock, a safety measure Jeanine took when she furnished this place for me.

The living room is the largest room in the whole apartment, but that doesn't really make it spacious by any measure. The words 'we do not believe in living comfortable lives' are still spray-painted on the wall across from the door. I don't remember where I got the paint, all I remember is that I needed to remind myself there was a reason why I'd willingly spend my days in a room that smells like dust and mould, in an apartment with no actual furniture, in a building with no electricity or functioning pipes.

An old punching bag hangs from the ceiling; I carelessly hit it with my right hand as I walk past it towards the bedrooms. Through the door on the right, I can see the computer I'd use to run my fear landscapes, a syringe still lying beside it like it's just waiting for me to get back to training. I haven't been to that room since I left Erudite - in fact, until a year ago, I hadn't come back to this place at all.

I walk into the room on the left. It still has the wooden target I used to practice knife throwing on. The knives are still carefully lined up on one of the shelves in the built-in closet, but they're not what I came here for - I'm here for the pile of blue clothes on the shelf above them.

I close the door, stare at my reflection in the full-sized mirror behind it, and begin the weekly ritual that will turn me into someone else.

I strip down to my underwear, folding each piece of clothing before placing it on an empty shelf in the closet. Then, I remove my piercings, always in the same order I got them. Five rings on my lower lip. Two rings on my right eyebrow, three on the left. One beaded ring on the left rook, one spiral on the right tragus. Four spiked horseshoes on the right ear, three rings on the left. One horseshoe on the septum.

I grab the blue clothes and put them on without looking at myself in the mirror. The silver-rimmed glasses feel wrong - I'd never worn them, even when I was Erudite - but I know they provide enough distraction that no one notices the faint marks all over my face.

Last of all, I slump my shoulders and force my body to relax as I walk out of the building and into the Erudite wing of the hospital. I make sure the nurses aren't watching and march into room 347.

The woman inside greets me with a smile.

"Good morning, Mom."

Faction before blood, my ass.

Right after initiation last year, Jeanine came over to my office to tell me my mother was in the hospital with a brain tumour. My father died when I was still an initiate, which meant my mother would have to spend the rest of her days alone in a hospital bed, but Jeanine had other plans. Before leaving, she gave me a box full of blue clothes - a reward for my loyalty, she'd said - and a choice.

I hesitated at first, I really did. I'd always told myself that I was, first and foremost, loyal to my chosen faction, but the more I thought about all the acts of treason I'd been committing - all the things that could get me executed, by Dauntless rules - the harder it was to keep believing that. I was already so deep in a web of hypocrisy and betrayal that I felt like visiting my mother on her death bed - even if it involved acting like a Nose - would be just a raindrop in the middle of an ocean.

So I stripped out of my Dauntless persona, put on my Erudite could-have-been, and sneaked into the hospital.

I've been doing this every Saturday morning since then.

"Good morning, sweetheart."

She's sitting on the bed, wearing her golden-rimmed reading glasses, today's newspaper lying on her lap. I run my eyes over the headline - yet another article about Abnegation -, and keep from rolling my eyes as I take my own glasses off and sit next to her on the bed.

"How are you feeling today?" I run my fingers over her hair. She looks fragile, breakable. I feel almost self-conscious about touching her with my calloused fingers and split knuckles.

"Tired. Nauseous. Sleepy." She lets out a small sigh. "They've been giving me morphine for the pain."

I laugh in spite of myself. I've tried almost all drugs known to man – from a vast array of stimulants, hallucinogens, and dissociatives to pot and cigarettes -, but opiates aren't on that list. Their sedative effect is the opposite of what we're usually looking for when we get high, so their recreational use is practically non-existent. Besides, morphine is one of the few drugs banned from the Dauntless compound, for semi-obvious reasons - it's a highly addictive, highly deadly pain killer, after all, and the most recent records of its use resulted in the death of two initiates.

But my mother, who only drinks one glass of wine with her dinner and can't tell LSD from MDMA, has free access to it.

"You do look better," I assure her. She smiles.

"Well, one of us has to."

I bite my lower lip. The softness of my own skin surprises me - I'm used to biting onto the rings, pulling them into my mouth and running my tongue over the metal.

Sometimes I wonder how the transfers _from_ Dauntless manage to get used to it.

Before she has the chance to ask me what's wrong, I grab the newspaper from her lap.

"Crosswords?"

She smiles and scoots over to her right, giving me enough space to sit on the left side of the bed. I grab two pens from the bedside table and pull the folding desk over our laps.

Every Saturday morning, my parents would sit at the living room table and work on the crosswords from the newspaper together, competing to see who got the most words, almost like it was a private game of Scrabble. When I got old enough to join them, it became my family's most important bonding moment. We were as attached to this tradition as the Dauntless are to knife-throwing, and my mother's never let go of it, even after losing her son to another faction and her husband to a heart attack.

So, it wasn't surprising that, on the Saturday morning when I first stepped into this room, I saw her sitting on the bed with the newspaper on the desk and a pen in her hand. Her first words to me in two years were 'six letters, expressing little or no emotion' and, when I shot back the answer without a hint of hesitation, it felt like I'd never left.

We work fast, in silence. She beats me to the easy words; I focus my efforts on the hard ones. When there are about five words left, I stop writing - she's losing by just a few points, and I want to let her win. I know she notices it, but she doesn't protest, because she's let me win hundreds of times when I was a kid.

Finally, when there's one word left, she drops the pen.

"Do you know that one?"

I look at the puzzle. Eight letters. R _ T H _ _ _ S. 'Showing no pity; merciless, cruel'.

I can't help laughing as I fill in the blanks.

"Ruthless," she reads aloud, like the word is an outfit she's trying on. "I've never seen that one before."

"It's a Dauntless word." She glances at me, and I know she'd like to scold me for my use of imprecise language. Those are the moments when I remember I left. "I mean, I'd never heard it before I joined them."

She stares at the puzzle, thoughtful.

"Well, I guess that's fitting."

I frown. She answers my unspoken question with a look that tells me she's sure I'm smart enough to understand on my own, and I smile when it dawns on me that Dauntless is the only faction that could ever need a better word for 'cruel'.

We don't say anything for a while. I can feel her eyes on me, studying me as I put the newspaper and the pens back on the bedside table and put the desk away.

"What happened to your hands?"

I look down at my split knuckles. I'm sure that question is either a preamble or an invitation.

"Punching bag."

She nods, slowly, taking my hand and running her thumb over my knuckles. I know she doesn't approve of many things my faction does, and I wish I could tell her how much I appreciate that she's never let it keep her from accepting my choice - but maybe the Amity are the only ones who have words to express so much gratitude.

"Stressful week?"

"Yeah. Initiation is a pain in the-" I stop talking when her hand squeezes mine. Cursing was never welcome in our home, because there's always a better word for whatever you'd like to say.

Clearly, my parents have never needed to tell someone to eat a dick.

I clear my throat. "Initiation is dull and exhausting, and it feels like a huge waste of my time."

"Well, someone has to make sure the great and noble faction of the brave doesn't stray too far from its ways."

I sigh. "I'm sure that's what Four thinks he's doing, too."

"What Four thinks is none of your concern. If he wanted to do things his way, he should have tried a little harder to become a leader."

I feel tempted to remind her it's not that simple. My mother is the only person I've told about Jeanine's plans and my role in them, and she knows that I'm supposed to be little more than a pawn in this whole mess. Of course, I agree with most - if not all - things she's made me do, but even if I didn't, accepting the leadership position would have forced me to do them anyway.

Four somehow knew that. _That's_ why he quit.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm just thinking. It's just... It's not that glamorous, you know?"

"Being a leader?"

"Yeah." I hesitate, mentally scolding myself for being inaccurate. It's mesmerizing, how fast some habits come back. "Actually, no. Being a leader is awesome. _Leadership_ isn't."

"I take it they still don't trust you?"

I nod. When Max gave me the keys to my office - three months before my training was supposed to end, after my last rival quit the competition - he warned that none of the other leaders would take me seriously, because I hadn't proved myself to them, I'd just lasted longer than the bunch of pansycakes I was running against. As for himself, he'd never see me as anything but Jeanine's pawn.

At the time, I told him I'd make them change their minds.

I still haven't.

"You know, sweetheart, maybe they don't take you seriously because they can't see anything but a boy who's trying too hard."

"What does that mean?"

She looks at me and places her hand on my face, her fingers grazing over my eyebrow.

"Dauntless leaders don't need to cover themselves in piercings." Her thumb brushes the skin under my lip, and she moves her hand to my ear. "This looks like something you did to force people to forget where you came from, and I'm sure no one would look at all those rings and spikes all over your face and imagine you were born and raised somewhere other than Dauntless." She moves her hand away from my face. "But, honey, if I were a Dauntless leader, all I'd be able to see would be a child who's faking it until he makes it. And, if you want them to respect you, the first thing you should do is start looking like you think you've made it." She shrugs. "Or maybe I'm just being a bitter, old woman who hates to see her baby looking like a pincushion."

"Gee, thanks, Mom."

She laughs. A little voice in my head tells me that a true Dauntless probably wouldn't care about what his mother thinks, because a true Dauntless wouldn't be so attached to his family, in the first place.

"Why do you suddenly care so much about their respect, anyway? You've never cared about other people's approval, not even mine."

"Maybe I just don't want to be a pawn anymore." I clear my throat. "I guess I've realized I might have been steering my faction the wrong way all along."

"What makes you think that?"

I hesitate. My mom would never tell anyone about anything I tell her, but she's still Erudite, and all the Erudite would blindly trust Jeanine with their lives.

The Dauntless don't trust their leaders so much. Maybe that's why they have five of us.

"Jeanine lied to me."

When my mother looks at me, her eyebrows are raised and her eyes are wide, but I don't see surprise in them. I see concern.

She may not know the full extent of my lack of mercy, but she knows enough. And she must also know what I'm capable of - what Jeanine herself made me capable of, when she encouraged me to nurture that side, when she helped me turn my body into a weapon, when she assigned to me the role of leader of her army.

I find it difficult to believe Jeanine failed so hard at thinking things through.

She told me the war was about power and progress and putting the Stiffs back in their place, and she told me that she was hunting down the Divergent because they were dangerous and their allegiance was unreliable. For years, I believed her, and I unquestioningly carried out every single task she gave me, because I thought I was doing the right thing.

I didn't know her real motivation until last Tuesday - until that fight that led me to the bar and ultimately resulted in my night with Tris.

"She wants me to destroy the Abnegation because they've been hiding something from us for years, and she'd like to keep it that way."

While the Dauntless 'do not believe that silence is useful', the Erudite manifesto states that 'the withholding of information is punishable by reprimand, imprisonment, and, eventually, exile'. Therefore, she must have known that, whatever I Chose, I wouldn't agree with going so far just to hide something from everyone.

I'm sure that's why she's never told me the truth.

"What kind of thing?"

"Information, according to Max. She told me it could change everything we know."

She stares blankly at the wall, looking thoughtful. I can almost see her brain at work, in a frantic inner debate. What I've just said is illogical; therefore, it's unacceptable. There must be a better, simpler, more rational explanation.

Sometimes, the Erudite take Occam's razor a bit too far.

"Well, maybe she doesn't want it to be shared because its benefits do not outweigh its potential harm. Withholding information is reproachable, yes, but, if said information is likely to be detrimental to society as a whole, then maybe it shouldn't be shared. Knowledge-"

"Is a gift," I interrupt her, quoting the Erudite manifesto like she was about to do. "And it must be used for the benefit, and not to the detriment, of society. I know that. But don't you think that she'd have told me, if it was undeniably dangerous? The only logical explanation is that it's, _at best_ , a moral grey area. And in that case, what she's doing is wrong."

She hesitates, a crease appearing between her eyebrows. After a whole minute of silence, she finally speaks again.

"She told you this information could change everything we know, right?"

"Yup."

"Well, maybe she's just scared of what that might mean. Destroying the status quo is-"

"All my faction lives for."

 _My faction._

I've used those words to talk about Dauntless about a thousand times, but, in all of them, I meant that they belong to me. This time, though, I say it because _I_ belong to _them_.

"If she wants us to fight her battles for her," I continue, "we'll do it, because that's our role in society. But if she's planning to take us to war because she's _afraid_ , then she'll have to find someone else to do her dirty work, because we are _Dauntless_. And we do _not_ fight for cowards."

There's so much passion and anger in my voice that I momentarily forget that I'm not in the middle of a speech for my faction. I can almost hear the yelling and the feet stomping, and I can almost see the fists pumping in the air, and I can almost feel the contagious energy of the faction of the untamed.

My mother eyes me with curiosity, and I realize my shoulders are straight and my chin is up and I probably have the same ferocious look in my eyes I see in the mirror every day.

She'd never seen Dauntless leader Eric before, because I'd always thought she wouldn't be proud of him.

Judging by the way she's smiling at me, I'd say I was wrong.

"Well, it seems you'll have to stop her, then."

I'm not sure if she's saying that because I've somehow convinced her that I'm right or because she trusts my judgement more than she trusts Jeanine's, but I nod in agreement. I got to that same conclusion on my own, at some point before Tris walked into the bar, but, no matter how much I try, I just can't move beyond that conclusion.

"And how are you planning to do that?" She asks. I want to say I have no idea, but, for some reason, I can see a glimpse of a plan, and I smile when I reply.

"Ruthlessly."

* * *

 **A/N**

First, thank you for the feedback, guys! The reviews and all of the follows and favourites warmed my ice-cold heart.

Please let me know what you think of this chapter, because I'm not sure if I pulled it off.

Now, for the actual author notes:

1\. I know you were probably expecting a little more Eris in this chapter, but I needed to write this chapter for a billion reasons. First of all, I hate those stories where a heartless guy is a teddy bear with the girl he likes - and only her -, so I felt that Eric needed someone else he could be a teddy bear with. I also wanted to add some glimpses into Eric's backstory, so taking him back to Erudite felt like a great way to kill two birds with one stone.

Lastly, I had to add some actual plot to the story. I forgot to add this comment to the first chapter when I reposted, but the universe I'm using is almost entirely canon, up to the point where Tris goes to bed after the ranking are posted. Since the build-up to the war was so important to the original plot of the books, I couldn't just take it away, so I just moved the attack on Abnegation to one year later (that is, around three weeks after Chapter One).

2\. For those or you who are wondering, the six-letter word Eric's mom asks him for is "Stolid", and, no, I didn't pick it on purpose. It was Merriam-Webster's word of the day when I wrote this scene (and I'm glad I didn't write it today, because today's word is 'jeopardize').

3\. On a more personal note: as I said in the beginning, this chapter is dedicated to F. He was admitted into the hospital I work at on May 25th, so today would be his "admission anniversary", so to speak, but he lost a long, painful battle last October. He was born nine months before me, but, by his next birthday, I'll be older than him. Room 347 is the one where he spent most of his last six months, so Eric's mom's room is my tribute to the boy who unwittingly taught me that life can be shorter than what feels right.


	4. Chapter 4

**Four**

 _(t-minus 16)_

I spend another hour with my mother. By the time I leave, we've already outlined a decent plan, but the list of things I need to think through seems to keep growing faster than I can get rid of them.

As it turns out, being an evil mastermind is a lot like killing a hydra.

The only problem is, my goal is to dismantle the lifework of an eviller mastermind, the result of almost an entire decade of meticulous planning. And I have two weeks to accomplish that.

If only I had a boulder.

I push these thoughts aside as I walk out of the Erudite compound on my way back to the apartment. By the time I unlock the door, the only thing on my mind is the ritual that will bring Dauntless leader Eric back to life.

I take off the blue clothes, placing them back on their shelf, and look at myself in the mirror. Even I don't know for sure who or what the person staring back at me is.

My reflection shows me a tall, muscular guy in black underwear - someone who _might_ be Dauntless, but could just as easily be nothing. The light that filters through the window isn't enough for the tiny piercing marks all over my face to be visible, so my skin looks blank, free of tattoos and scars. My hair is black, cut in a style that allows me to blend in with the Erudite and, consequently, every other faction but Abnegation. My posture is regal and I couldn't hide the pride in my eyes if I tried, but the same applies to Jeanine Matthews and Marcus Eaton and Jack Kang.

I like to believe I'd look exactly the same, not matter what I Chose.

I start with the piercings. My mother may have a point about them making me look like I'm trying too hard, but they've been my symbol of Dauntlessness since the day a Dauntless girl with a ring on her septum saved thirteen-year-old Eric from a potentially ugly - maybe deadly - fight with a factionless man.

Some people get tattoos, some paint their hair in unnatural colours. I get pierced.

After putting all the rings and barbells back in their proper places, I put on my black clothes. Seeing myself in the mirror in a sweatshirt and sneakers makes me feel incomplete, but there's nothing I can do about it until I get home, where my leather jacket and combat boots are waiting for me.

I take the ten-thirty train back to the compound, and I use the idle time to go over my budding plan again.

Max once told me we need to have enough courage to change the things we can, and enough vodka to accept the things we can't. This is the kind of situation when I'm pretty sure I'll need both.

I owe Jeanine everything I have, maybe even everything I am. Max is my friend, the guy who's been there for me through the good, the bad, and the ugly. I can't stop this war without stabbing them in the back, and I'm not sure if I'm _ruthless_ enough to do it. But I know they wouldn't hesitate before betraying me, if they thought it was needed. I have the feeling they've done that, already.

This moral dilemma, however, is nothing but a bump in the road. The real obstacle is Jeanine's safety net - because the brightest of the Erudite wouldn't plan a war without taking at least some of the likely setbacks into account. She's made sure that even her death wouldn't be enough to halt the attack - in fact, if she gets murdered, we're supposed to begin the simulation immediately. Which means that even if I _neutralize_ her, my faction will be full of unwilling murderers by the end of the night, unless I figure out a way to keep the Abnegation safe.

The most logical way to work around that issue involves getting their compound evacuated. The problem with this plan is that the Stiffs wouldn't protect themselves, unless one of their leaders did the talking, and even the Abnegation leaders would be reticent to hide just because a Dauntless leader is telling them to. I'd need someone with a bit more appeal to convince them, perhaps someone who could say 'please, Daddy, do it for me'.

That leads me to another wall. My faction happens to have not one, but two members whose parents are Abnegation leaders, but one of them is Four, and I know enough of his relationship with Marcus to be sure he's far from having the kind of pull I need.

That leaves me with Tris - the girl I kicked out of my apartment three days ago and haven't seen since.

The train slows down near the Dauntless compound and I jump out. I keep running, even after I've spent the momentum from my landing, and I storm into the compound through the back door near my apartment.

I stop running when I see someone sitting right in front of my door. I can count my friends on the fingers of one hand, so I rarely get visitors, and the few people who do come over wouldn't just sit and wait for me.

I smile when I recognize her tiny frame and blond hair.

"Waiting for an apology, Stiff?" I can't help taunting her. It's better than letting her know I'm actually glad to see her.

I tell myself I feel this way because her forgiving me would be insanely convenient for my plan.

I know that's a lie.

"I know better than to wait for an apology from you."

It's all I can do not to laugh. I must have at least smiled, because she glares at me - which makes not laughing even harder.

"Well, sorry to disappoint you." I offer her my hand. "Because I was just about to say that I'm sorry for the other day."

She frowns, staring at my hand. Her hesitation lasts so long I start thinking she must be doing it just to make me uncomfortable.

"I didn't think you could actually say that without catching fire or something," she says, her voice sounding deliberately flat, as she raises her hand and takes mine.

"I _can_ ," I say, pulling her up by her arm - she's so tiny that it takes me absolutely no effort. I can't ignore the fact that her body is pressed against mine, but I don't let go and she doesn't seem to be eager to move away. " _If_ I think I fucked up."

The crease between her eyebrows deepens slightly and her eyes are suddenly filled with curiosity. Before she has the chance to ask any questions or make any teasing comments, I let go of her arm and say, "Now, can I get to my door, or...-?"

She takes a step to the side, giving me space to unlock the door and walk into my apartment.

"Are you coming or going?" I ask. My hand's still on the doorknob, but I'm not sure if I'd actually lock her out. "Or coming _then_ going?" She turns around and faces me, her eyes moving past my body and into my living room. It looks like, whatever it is she came here to do, her resolve wasn't steely enough to survive the memories of our last conversation. It probably wasn't even steely enough to allow her to leave before I got home. "Or coming and staying?"

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she opens them again, they're filled with fiery determination.

"You tell me," she says, stepping forward.

Dauntless, through and through.

"Take a seat." I meant to say it as an invitation, but it comes out as an order. "I'll be right back."

I can tell she wants to protest, but she just nods, looking somewhat grateful for having a few minutes to get her shit together. I walk into my bedroom and take off the sweatshirt and the sneakers, putting on my leather jacket and half-assedly lacing my combat boots before going back to my living room.

Tris is waiting for me on the couch, almost perched on the armrest - I guess she's trying to put as much space between us as she can. Her embarrassment is almost unbelievable, considering she was the one who came to me.

If I was the kind of asshole she thinks I am, I'd sit right next to her. Maybe even put my legs over hers or pull her to my lap at some point.

Instead, I pull an armchair closer to the couch and sit on it, resting my feet on the cushion next to Tris'. She's practically trapped between my body and my couch but, given the way her eyes dart down to my feet and she wrinkles her nose in disapproval, she seems to be far more worried about the fact that my shoes are on the furniture.

"So, what brings you to my doorstep this early on a Saturday morning?"

"It can't be that early, considering you were out of the compound."

"I take it you're just here for your daily dose of bickering, then?"

She glares at me. "I need to talk to you."

"Don't you think we've done enough of that already?"

"No." She crosses her arms over her chest. Her expression is something between determination and sheer stubbornness. "I don't."

I sigh. I don't know what I was expecting when I found her on my doorstep, but I'm suddenly aware of the fact that I'm not ready for another round of Tris crushing me, and I'm definitely not ready for the aftermath of that. But I can see in her eyes that she's not over this whole mess either, and she seems to need to have this conversation more than I need to avoid it.

We do believe that justice is more important than peace, don't we?

"Fine," I say, rolling my eyes and doing my best impression of 'annoyed Eric'. She looks at me with the same expression a parent would use when dealing with their bratty teenage child.

"The last time we spoke, I said a few things to you that... Well, they weren't _lies_ , but they weren't the whole truth. I mean, I thought they were, but I've come to realize they aren't."

"So, what- Are you here to tell me that it wasn't even 'pleasant enough'?"

"Well, it wasn't," she says, bluntly. It feels like a slap in the face, but before I can fully assess the damage to my ego, she adds, "It was better than that, it was... good. Really, really good." She blushes lightly, looking so embarrassed that I wonder if she was able to say that out loud when she was talking to Christina about it. "But that's an entirely different conversation from the one I came here to have."

"Then what is the conversation you _want_ to have? You want to make sure I understand how much you despise me and how disgusting you feel for having slept with _me_?" My voice almost breaks at it, anger and uneasiness washing over me. Saying these words aloud, staring into her eyes as I do, almost makes me want to cry. "Because I know it already, so, if that's what you want, you can just leave."

I'm half-expecting her to get up and leave. I can almost see her pushing my legs out of her way, stomping her feet on her way out, probably telling me to fuck off before she slams the door on my face. I can tell she's thinking about it, but she shakes her head and lets out a heavy sigh.

"I'm actually here to tell you that I'm sorry I was so unfair to you."

Her tone is so cruel that I'm briefly stunned by it, before I realize she sounds exactly like I did when I kicked her out - which means she's probably been replaying that scene in her head at least as much as I have.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

She looks at me as if she'd like to chastise me for being so cynical, but she just rolls her eyes - which is fine by me. I've learnt from my mistakes; I won't open up to her again until I'm sure it's safe.

"Christina kept telling me that she didn't understand why I'd spend the night with someone I couldn't stand. It took me a while to realize she wasn't just talking about the sex." She chuckles. "I was so concerned with the fact that we had sex that I somehow forgot that we spent the whole night together. We had real conversations instead of meaningless bickering, and at some point back at the Bar I was actually having a good time and enjoying your company, and I'm sure you were, too, because you could have just left. The _jerk_ I'm used to dealing with would have."

She bites her lower lip and looks away, her eyes scanning the room before meeting mine again. "But you didn't leave, even after I told you to, and I could bet it was because you knew I needed... _something_. You listened to me, and you tried to comfort me as best as your ice-cold heart could. You _hugged_ me, for god's sake. You let me cry on your shoulder without making a single mean remark about it." She places her hand on my ankle, which is the only part of my body she could 'accidentally' touch. I pretend not to notice; she doesn't move away. "You were nice to me, Eric, although I still have no idea why."

"That's what you needed me to be."

"Yeah, but I've never seen you be nice to anyone, no matter how much they needed it."

"You don't know me, Tris. You know your leader."

"Well, my _leader_ doesn't seem to have a single nice cell in his whole body." Her hand leaves my ankle, and I briefly wonder if I should be concerned about her suddenly breaking our physical contact. "So, can you really blame me for not knowing what to think when I woke up on the morning after? When I told you I couldn't move past the fact that it was you, it was because I just couldn't believe I saw something likeable in you, not after a year of not seeing _anything_ that could possibly be considered a redeeming quality."

Something I could only describe as relief fills me. I feel like something really heavy has been lifted off my shoulders - like I can breathe properly for the first time in days.

"So, you don't regret it?"

"I think 'regret' is too strong to describe how I feel about it. I'm not proud of it, though." She wrinkles her nose again, like she's admitting to something unpleasant. "But it has nothing to do with who you are or how I feel about you."

"Then what's it about?"

"Uriah summed it up as 'Stiffs and sex'." She smiles. "You know, when my parents gave me the Talk, all they told me was that physical contact is powerful, so I should be wary of it, and that sex for the sake of sex was self-indulgent."

I can't imagine what it must be like, growing up in a faction like Abnegation. My parents have always been incredibly open about it, encouraging me to look for answers to the questions they weren't comfortable answering - like whenever I asked for too many details or anything remotely related to fetishes. Not only that, but the Erudite value all kinds of self-awareness, because knowing yourself is as important as knowing the Pillars - the six fields their manifesto states that all their members should be educated on.

In other words, I've been encouraged to explore my sexuality since I entered puberty. Meanwhile, Tris has spent almost as much time being told she should feel ashamed for it.

"Well, that sounds like crappy sex-ed."

"We _are_ talking about the Stiffs, you know."

"Alright, let me do you a favour, then." I put my feet on the floor and lean in closer to her, resting my elbows on my knees. " _Normal_ sex-ed 101. Waiting until marriage is as great and normal and acceptable as fucking thirty people at the same time." Her eyes widen, making me laugh. I wonder how she managed to spend a year living in Dauntless - working at the tattoo parlour, no less - without ever hearing the words 'gang bang'. "I haven't done either, but, if that's what _you_ want, why shouldn't you do it? I mean, it might be a little too late to wait until marriage, so maybe you can't have _that_." She chuckles, and I feel almost relieved that she looks a little less uncomfortable. "Anyway, anything in between is great and acceptable and normal, too, and you shouldn't feel bad for doing whatever the fuck you want. You want to make love to your boyfriend who you're sure you'll end up marrying? You go, girl. Want to fuck someone you don't even like just because he turns you on? Go get him, tiger."

"Uri told me something like that, too," she says, quietly. "He was a bit more charming, though."

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I not being _nice_ enough? You didn't seem to mind when I-"

"Eric." She interrupts me, her voice sounding like a warning.

My first instinct is to misbehave just to tick her off - that's how much I suck at obeying. But then she pulls her legs up, curling up in a ball, and I bite back my witty remark.

"What's wrong?" I move over to the couch, taking the seat by her side. She shakes her head.

"You wouldn't understand."

"Every question that can be answered must be answered or at least engaged," I say, with a smile. I didn't know, until this moment, how much I wanted to get my revenge over that particular line.

"Asshole," she mutters.

"I don't think insulting me counts as engaging."

She buries her face between her knees - I'm not sure if from frustration or embarrassment. When she speaks again, her voice is low and muffled, and I can barely make out the words.

"You hurt me and I liked it."

I can't help laughing. "What makes you think I wouldn't understand that?"

She looks at me again. "Well, you're the one acting like it's perfectly normal to feel pleasure from hurting people."

"Sex-ed 201: different people get off on different things. Everything is perfectly okay if it's done safely and between two consenting adults. Some people like it nice and gentle, some people like golden showers." I give her my best innocent smile. "You just have to find someone whose fetishes match yours."

"Should I ask what a golden shower is?"

"Not if you don't feel comfortable with your own kinks."

She looks at me like all I accomplished with that was spark her curiosity, but I really don't want to see the look on her face when she finds out, so I decide to steer the conversation away from that topic.

"Look, I know good Abnegation girls don't like sex, let alone _kinky_ sex. But good Abnegation girls also don't wear eyeliner or tight jeans, and they don't hang out in a boy's apartment without parental supervision." I run my hand over her back, my fingers getting entangled in her hair, my heart fluttering when she doesn't shy away from my touch. "You jumped first and you _ranked_ first. You shot a gun, you knocked Molly out, you climbed a Ferris wheel - yeah, I've heard about that -, you had a stellar performance in your fear sims, and you _baffled_ your leaders with your fear landscape." I hesitate. I feel like I could spend all day listing the things she's done to prove herself as Dauntless, but I can barely find five things to list about myself.

Maybe my mother was right. Maybe I don't believe I deserve my leadership either.

"The bottom line is, the Tris whose initiation I've watched has _never_ been a good Abnegation girl; she was the toughest, bravest, _bestest_ Dauntless girl I've ever seen." I smile at her. "And a somewhat acceptable Stiff at times."

She rests her chin on her knees and, when she looks up at me, her eyes are filled with sadness. I wrap my arms around her shoulders, ignoring the urge to tell her that I understand how she feels, to remind her that I'm a transfer, too, and that I know how hard it is to let go of the things you've spent your whole life believing or forcing yourself to do. I want to tell her how empty my Saturday mornings felt without the crosswords or how much I miss the smell of the Great Library.

But this moment is about her and, if there's one thing I know about the Stiffs, it's that they believe that, sometimes, not speaking is the greatest gift you can give someone.

"Thanks," she whispers, sliding her legs down to the floor so she can move closer to me, burying her head in my neck.

We stay silent for a while, neither of us daring to move a single muscle - even my hand is frozen on the back of her neck. I've never felt comfortable with displays of affection, but they feel less awkward with Tris.

When she pulls away from me, I can't quite shake off the feeling that something _big_ has changed.

"Eric?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you still hate me?"

"Does it look like I do?"

She shakes her head. "I just wanted to make sure."

"Why?"

She hesitates for less than a heartbeat. "Because you asked me to give you a chance. To get to know you better."

I close my eyes, enjoying the warm feeling that's spreading through my chest. I can't remember the last time I felt this way, and it takes me a while to realize that's what happiness feels like.

"Wait, are you saying you'd like to try to, what's the word, be _friends_ with me?"

"Yes." She bites her lower lip before hastily adding, "Maybe even with some benefits."

I look into her eyes. I've always been sure the perfect girl would want just that - a half-hearted attempt at friendship with a healthy amount of sex. But it doesn't seem to be enough for everything I suddenly find myself wishing I could have with her.

On the other hand, I don't do relationships, and I certainly don't do feelings. I'll never be the guy she wants, needs, deserves, and I can't pretend I could be.

"Friendship _and_ benefits?" I ask, in a fake amazed tone. "Count me in."

* * *

 **A/N**

I'd like to say a big thank you to everyone who took their time to review my last chapter. I love you all.

I'm sorry this chapter took longer than most, but nailing the flow for this one was. So. Fucking. Hard. I did end up with my favourite lines so far, so I hope I can make up for the delay.

Now, pop culture references you may or may not have missed:

. The Boyfriend pointed out that Heracles defeats the hydra with a sword and a torch, but, unless I'm totally making up my entire childhood, Disney's Hercules uses a boulder. Eric is referring to the wrong myth/story, but he does need a wrecking ball, so please forgive me for the inaccuracy.

. The innuendo used by Eric when he invites her in is one of the best lines from Queer as Folk. I'm shamelessly borrowing it because I've spent the past eight years or so hoping some day I'd get the chance to use it in a story.

As usual, don't forget to follow/fave/review.


	5. Chapter 5

**Five**

 _(t-minus 16)_

A light, warm silence fills my living room, expanding between the two of us like a balloon. Being alone with Tris feels like riding the train or walking down the streets at the Erudite compound - like I'm allowed to be someone other than Dauntless leader Eric.

Not that I'd know who else I could possibly be, in the first place, but she does make me want to find out.

A loud knock on the door interrupts my reflections. I glance at Tris, who is looking flushed and wide-eyed, like she's been caught doing something wildly inappropriate. She looks so guilty, I can't help wondering what was going through _her_ mind just then.

I hesitate, considering the possibilities. Only a handful of people would randomly drop by my apartment, and none of them is entirely harmless. Brie - my beautiful, blonde, flirty assistant - only comes over on weekends when she's interested in, well, _coming_. The other options are Max and Jeanine, who would have me beheaded if they found out I slept with their enemy, and Four, who would behead me himself if he found out I slept with his ex.

Whoever my visitor is, it'd probably be best if they don't know she's here.

"I won't mind if you tell me to hide," she says, softly. I frown, wondering how the fuck she knows what I was thinking, and she smiles at me before adding, "I wouldn't want to explain what _you_ are doing in my apartment, either."

"Can you just wait in the kitchen? I'll try to make it fast."

I follow her with my eyes, and my visitor knocks again just as she disappears from view behind a wall. I've lost count of how many times I've asked random girls to wait - either in my kitchen or in my bedroom - while I got rid of Max or Brie, but none of them has ever taken it as lightly as Tris.

As soon as she's out of sight, my expression shifts back to the scowl and ice-cold glare people are used to seeing on me. With an annoyed sigh, I open the door to find Number Boy, the king of poor timing himself, standing in the hallway.

"Four." I all but growl his name. Sounding menacing has never been so easy.

"Eric."

I'm taken aback by the anger in his voice, before it dawns on me that it's Visiting Day. He's probably spent the whole morning hiding in the control room, _selflessly_ taking an extra shift so his Dauntless-born colleagues could spend the day with their families.

He must have seen Tris waiting for me in the hallway, and I'll be damned if he didn't keep checking up on her until he saw her walk into my apartment. I wonder if _he_ caught the sexual innuendo that went straight over her head when I invited her in, and if he's been watching my door since then, just waiting for her to leave while he tried to come up with an excuse to come over.

The asshole is cockblocking me and he knows it.

"Can I come in?" He takes a step forward, but I place my hand on the doorframe, blocking his path with my body. His right hand balls into a tight fist, and I find myself almost hoping he tries to punch me.

He may have beaten me to a pulp before, but I know for a fact it won't happen again. I've been waiting three years for my revenge.

"I'd rather not." I oh-so-innocently look behind me, glancing at my bedroom. The door is wide open, and my bed is placed at just the right angle so that the only thing that I can see is the footboard - and the messy pile of blankets and clothes I've left on it this morning. "I'm in the middle of... _something_." I give him a mischievous smile that, judging by his face, makes him see red.

That's one of the things we have in common. We both hate losing.

I don't even have to feign impatience when I ask, "What do you want?"

He clears his throat, unclenching his fist and placing his hand on my door, in a gesture that's clearly supposed to seem casual to any possible onlookers. In reality, he's pushing it just a little too hard, and I need to wedge it with my shoe to keep it from budging.

 _Come on, Number Boy_ , I find myself thinking. _Just give me one little reason to kick your Stiff ass_.

"I just wanted to make sure Max told you we've decided to anticipate capture the flag."

I can _feel_ the anger burning in my eyes. Max hasn't spoken to me since our argument last Tuesday, and of course that dickhead didn't bother telling me that he and Number Boy changed something in initiation behind my back. I mean, it's not like I'm he leader responsible for initiation or anything.

He will be so, so sorry when I get back at him.

I take a deep breath, shoving my thoughts about Max into my ever-growing mental box dedicated to him, and give Four a condescending look.

"Of course he did."

"Oh, good. See you tonight, then?"

I don't bother answering; I just stare at him until he understands it's time to leave. The second he moves his hand away from my door, I slam it on his face, thinking - not for the first time - that my next purchase will be something more punchable than my couch, or, at least, a target and a set of knives to call my own.

"Asshole," I mutter, turning on my heels. My mood is slightly improved by the sight of Tris, leaning against the wooden arch that leads to the kitchen.

"That went well," she says, giving me a small, sympathetic smile as she crosses the few feet between us and wraps her arms around my waist.

"Peachy," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. I don't think this word has ever been said within the confines of the Dauntless compound.

She frowns at me, her eyes mocking me for my choice of words, and I pull her body closer to mine. She feels so good, so right, unlike anyone else I've ever fucked.

She stares longingly into my eyes, but, before either of us gathers enough courage to close the distance between us, she pulls away and says, "I need to go."

It's all I can do not to groan in frustration.

"What? Why?"

"I'm meeting Christina for lunch." She smiles. "She wanted to give me an excuse to leave if things went wrong, and I bet she's _dying_ to know how the conversation went."

"I'm sorry, are we talking about the same Christina? Isn't she, like, eternally pissed at me for hanging her over the chasm?"

"Oh, she is, but I guess you were right about her. I mean, I told her I slept with you and it only took her half an hour to be able to ask if I liked it."

I laugh. "Can I walk you to the cafeteria, then? I'm kind of starving, anyway."

She nods, and I wrap my arm around her waist and steer her out of my apartment, letting go of her as soon as we cross the threshold. Four may know about us, but that doesn't mean I'd like to parade her around the faction. Gossip about me being in a relationship - as speculative as it may be - would spread like wildfire and, even more so than my reputation, I have to worry about _who_ Max would kill if he found out.

For all he knows, she's still a liability. I'm still supposed to kill her. There's still a war brewing. I can't lose sight of that.

For some reason, that thought reminds me that, by all accounts, Tris was single-handedly responsible for her team's victory last year. While the rest of her team was arguing about who had the right to call the shots, she climbed up a Ferris wheel because she realized it was one hell of a watch point. After getting back on the ground, she came up with the attack strategy that, ultimately, allowed Christina to catch the flag - and resulted in a third year of failure for me.

She's smart as fuck - Erudite-level smart -, and I know from experience what happens to Erudite kids in Dauntless. We end up either as cunning, ruthless, power-hungry leaders who manipulated our ways to the top, or as shrewd masterminds who earned the right to call the shots.

I like to believe I'm the latter. I'm more likely to be the former.

But the bottom line is, Tris isn't pawn material - she's _chess master_ material. There's no doubt she has the acumen and the planning skills to be the commander I need; all that's left to find out is whether she's willing to make the sacrifices that will be required.

There's a very convenient way to find out.

"Do you have to work tonight?" I ask. Thankfully, Four is nowhere to be seen, and I hope he hasn't made it to the control room yet. This is a conversation I don't want him to eavesdrop on.

"Nope." She chuckles. "I've been taking so many extra shifts lately that Tori kicked me out of the shop last night and told me not to come back until Monday."

"Are you up for a game of capture the flag with the initiates?"

Her face lights up, and her excitement is almost contagious. Her reaction is yet another reason why I think that Number Boy is an awful instructor - capture the flag is supposed to be a cleverly concealed lesson, not a silly game.

Unlike zip-lining or Dare, capture the flag isn't about mindless fun or bonding or recklessness. It's about reminding us that we are, first and foremost, an army - something the members can't seem to remember and the leaders aren't allowed to forget.

"You do know that capture the flag isn't half as fun when you're a member, right?"

"You only say that 'cause you've never won."

I elbow her on the rib and she glares at me, stepping away from me and wrapping an arm around herself to soothe the pain.

"Okay, okay, I got it, I won't make fun of your poor life choices again."

"Good, because I don't plan on losing again this year." I give her a cocky smile, but she looks at me like she's making a huge effort to refrain from making a snarky comment. "Which is why I'd like you to be team captain in my place," I add, doing my best to sound nonchalant, although just thinking about it causes me physical pain. Capture the flag may be a silly game, but I've never been one to simply step down from positions of power, especially if involves handing authority over to a Stiff.

"Wait, what?"

Her shock would probably have been funny if it was directed at anyone else but me. I actually feel like she's making fun of me, although I'm sure that's not what she means.

"Consider it a test. If you beat Four, I have a job to offer you."

"I don't know if you've heard, but I already have a job."

"One that's not nearly good enough for you," I insist, ignoring her sarcasm. My tone is calm and collected, and I'm fully aware that she knows it means this is not a negotiation. Right now, I'm the guy who threatened to review her friends' ranks because she broke the rules, not the guy who wiped her tears when Number Boy broke her heart.

There's a part of me that's glad this line is still crystal clear.

Her sigh sounds like an admission of defeat. "What kind of job is it?"

"A temporary one. It'll take you less than a month, and you can keep your day job." I smile at her. "I'll tell you all about it tomorrow."

"Are you that sure I can beat Four?"

"You know him better than anyone else, and you're smarter than him. I have complete faith in your winning abilities."

Her eyes narrow. I'm not sure of how much of her disbelief is just an exaggeration. "Who _are_ you?"

"A better leader than what I'm given credit for."

I remember when Margo - our oldest leader, a woman who was born in Amity and has probably been through hell and back until her Choosing Day - gathered all of the candidates in the conference room for a chat. It was a bitingly cold winter day, a few months after our training began. Up to that point, leadership training had been little more than an extended, worsened version of initiation, with a few pauses for lessons on programming and strategy and other skills that might come in handy if we eventually made it to leadership.

Margo sat with us for hours, talking to us about what she called 'the reason why we're called leaders, not captains or some shit like that'. I spent most of that time spacing out, watching the snow through the window behind her, but I do remember her saying that a true leader is able to acknowledge his weaknesses and assign tasks to those who are more qualified than himself.

I only paid attention because, at the time, I thought this was what Jeanine was doing with me. I find it mildly ironic that I'm the first Dauntless leader to actually act this way in years.

"I do have two demands, though."

She laughs. "Of course you do."

"First," I say, ignoring her, "none of that 'I'll let them come up with their own strategy' bullshit. Initiates need someone telling them what to do; otherwise, they'll just get stuck in a battle of egos until someone proves they've got the bigger dick. Besides, if we don't teach them to follow orders during initiation, when will they learn it? We're an army, for fuck's sake."

She hesitates, a deep crease forming between her eyebrows. I find myself hoping she won't try to argue about that, because I don't think I could explain to her - at least not with cameras all around us - why I think it's so important that we remember our role in society, let alone why I'm so adamant about her taking charge.

"Fair enough," she says. I can barely hide my relief. "What else?"

"You'll do whatever it takes to get Stella."

"Who's Stella?"

It's my turn to hesitate, while I try to think of a way to answer her question without telling her all about Jeanine's plan. Stella is the girl Jeanine spent the last year grooming, with one specific purpose - killing Four before he and Tris get the chance to fuck shit up.

"Someone whose skills Four would never be able to appreciate enough." That's the best I can come up with, as we walk into the Pit.

It's almost noon, but the place is crowded. We've got an unusually high number of transfers this year, so there's blue and white and red and yellow everywhere I look. I feel a hint of sadness at the sight of so many happy families reuniting - my father died shortly before my first Visiting Day in Dauntless, so my parents never got the chance to come over.

People step aside for me as I drag Tris out of there - the Dauntless members know better than to get in my way, and the transfers' parents probably think I look scary as fuck, with all the piercings and the coldness that emanates from me.

We stop in front of the doors to the cafeteria.

"So, I guess this is where we split up," I say, trying to keep my tone light and nonchalant. I'm still holding her hand, my fingers laced through hers, and, although I'm not sure how that happened, I don't want to let go. "See you tonight?"

"I'm your team captain, aren't I?"

Pulling her closer to me and sounding exactly as obnoxious as the Pedrads do when they're drunkenly flirting with girls, I whisper in her ear, "You're captain of whatever you want while you're with me, babe."

She laughs, giving me a curious look before she moves away, suddenly breaking all physical contact between us. "Pick me up at seven?"

I frown. It's not entirely absurd that Four would invite his girlfriend to play capture the flag, so I was half-expecting her to know the original plan - which involved meeting the initiates at the training room at 7:30 so we could take the 7:50 train. What I wasn't expecting was that she'd make it sound almost like a date.

"Sure," I say, with a smile.

She smiles back at me, standing on her tiptoes to kiss me on the cheek before waltzing away. I watch her disappear into the cafeteria, frozen in place as I wonder when exactly I became someone who accepts displays of affection - or worse, someone who _deserves_ them.

* * *

 **A/N**

I'm so, so sorry it took me so long to update. The muses and I had huge disagreements on what to do with this chapter, and I had to change the ending a hundred times until I was satisfied.

This chapter has actually been pretty much done for about a week, but I wanted to make sure it wouldn't lead me to a wall before I posted it. That means that the next chapter should be up by Thursday or something. As of right now, it's a seven-page long monster (almost as big as the first version of Chapter 1!).

Don't forget to review! I've been getting amazing feedback and it really makes my day to see how much you've been loving this story.


	6. Chapter 6

**Six**

 _(t-minus 16)_

I spend the entire afternoon locked up in my office, poring over every single piece of information I have on Jeanine's plans. I knew from the start that her strategy is pretty airtight, so the idea of imploding the whole thing is foolish and unrealistic. But Jeanine has a huge weakness: she's neither a psychic nor a seasoned warmonger - which means that, as hard as she's tried to come up with contingency plans, she can't possibly have covered all bases.

Her foresight can be so subpar at times that last year, we were about to start the simulation when she told us to halt it due to 'unforeseen circumstances'.

She's never confirmed it, but I'm sure those circumstances involved realizing that Number Boy and Stiff Girl were dangerous enough as independent individuals - they are Stiff-raised, Dauntless-trained, and presumably Divergent, after all. For as long as they were dating, we were _fucked_ , because they'd stop at nothing to protect each other.

There were also rumours that Four had warned his father, but that's just ludicrous - and it seems that Jeanine agrees, because her safety net doesn't include an 'open in case of complete evacuation of Stiffland' file.

At six, I shut down my computer and hide the notebook where I was taking my notes in the locked drawer on my desk, before opening the crate in the corner, which is filled with paintball guns. I pile them up on my desk, making sure there's one for each initiate, before placing the ammo cases on my chair.

The last thing I do before leaving is plugging the camera on the corner - which is turned straight at my screen - back on. I've spent so much time locked in this office with the camera plugged off that even Gus - the guy who supervises the control room - doesn't give a flying fuck about that anymore.

Leadership surely is a job full of perks.

I take the stairs back home, where I take a long, scalding shower that is the exact opposite of what the energy conservancy guidelines recommend. I can almost feel the water washing my worries away, and I wonder if I'll ever be able to feel this relaxed for more than five minutes at a time.

When I get to the cafeteria, most of the people occupying the tables are the initiates. They stare at me in a mix of wonder and fear as I pick a hamburger and some fries - because having an apple for breakfast is enough 'healthy eating' for a whole lifetime in this faction - and take a seat at the table where the leaders and our minions usually sit. I'm at least 90% sure that this table would remain empty even if all of us vanished.

I know the stares follow me on my way to the Commoners' Wing - Max's derogatory term for the part of the compound with apartments for the people who don't qualify for a place at the Pire -, but, after two years of being stared at everywhere I go, I barely notice them anymore.

It's seven, sharp, when I knock on Tris' door. Christina's signature smile disappears the second she sees me, being instantly replaced by a distasteful scowl that makes me look like a teddy bear in comparison. She doesn't even bother greeting me.

"Tris! Two is here!"

"I told you not to call him that," Tris scolds her, coming out of her bedroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see Christina roll her eyes, but I'm not too sure, because all I can see is Tris, who's looking sexier and more bad-ass than ever, in leather leggings and studded ankle-high boots and a shirt that shows just enough of her shoulders to display the ravens on her collarbone.

I try really hard not to think of how much better those leggings would look on my floor.

She smiles at me when our eyes meet - one of those smiles that make my heart flutter, as much as I try to ignore it - and, after getting a jacket from the coat hanger by the door, walks out of the apartment. She stops a few inches away from me, her hand squeezing mine as she turns back to her roommate.

"See you at the training room, Chris?"

Her question is met with a grin so wide, I can almost see Christina's molars.

"Yeah, I'm just waiting for Will."

I'm about to call bullshit on that - I'm sure she's one of those girls who wouldn't be caught dead in sweatpants and a t-shirt, but that's what she's wearing now -, but her eyes move from Tris to our laced fingers to me, and her smile doesn't falter this time. I can feel the honesty in her words when she looks at Tris again and says, "Have fun."

I assume it means she's accepting me at least a little bit, so I decide that this might be a convenient moment to _not_ be an asshole.

"Sorry about that," Tris says, closing the door. I'm about to ask what she's apologizing for when she adds, "Christina wasn't too happy about us sleeping together, and the only way she was able to have an actual conversation with me about that was giving you a nickname."

I laugh. Her explanation was exactly what I was expecting - even some Erudite girls stoop down to this type of borderline illogical behaviour.

"Yeah, I get that, but _Two_? That sounds like a passive-aggressive way of saying I'm half the man Four is."

"Oh my god, no!" She looks like she's torn between telling me I'm brilliant and telling me I'm completely mistaken. "As much as Christina would _love_ to hear that, she's from Candor. She's literally incapable of being passive-aggressive." She chuckles, before adding, "It's because you were the second guy I've ever slept with."

"So, by that logic, does that mean we should call Number Boy... _One_?"

"Yeah, I guess, but-"

"Does that mean I'm _twice_ the man he is?"

She laughs and slaps me lightly on the shoulder. If she was a regular Dauntless girl, I'd expect a dick joke in reply, but Tris - Stiff, innocent Tris - doesn't make one.

When we reach the training room, a handful of initiates is waiting for us, clustered near the door. Even if I didn't know any of them, I'd know they're transfers from Erudite; back at school, only the members of my former faction would arrive at a classroom half an hour earlier, and, the longer it's been since Choosing Day, the more abnormal – therefore blatant - this behaviour becomes.

I unlock the door and drag Tris into the room. The lack of explicit invitation seems to be enough to stop the initiates from joining us - I swear to god, sometimes I'm sure initiates are vampires in disguise. I close the door between us, giving us as much privacy as you can have in a room with a camera on each corner.

She sits on the wooden table, running her fingers over the rough surface. Her legs are dangling over the edge, and she idly moves them back and forth. She looks happy, at home.

I envy her.

I had been preparing for initiation since I was thirteen, and I spent two years going through my fear landscape and throwing knives and practicing punches every day, but none of that made me better than a Stiff who clearly hadn't thought about leaving Stiffland before the morning of Choosing Day. Being acknowledged as the second best initiate was my reward for three years of working my ass off.

When I thought hell was over, Max offered me a leadership job. I had to work harder in the following nine months than I'd ever done before, because, as prepared as I might have been to survive initiation, nothing could have prepared me for the nightmare that leadership training is. The bar was raised so high that I spent the first couple of months thinking about quitting, because I was sure I wouldn't make it.

At that time, my fear of failure reached nearly crippling levels, and that was when it moved up to the end of my fear landscape - until then, it was a meek fourth-biggest-fear, and my final fear was powerlessness.

"I hate this place," I say, just a little louder than a whisper. I don't mean to ruin her mood; I just want to say it out loud, after two weeks with this sentence echoing in my head like a fucking mantra.

She frowns. "Why? I thought liking to spend time in the training room was as widespread as liking chocolate cake."

"Don't desecrate chocolate cake." I give her an offended look. "Besides, no one _likes_ this room; people like the punching bags and the guns and the knives. But the room? It smells like dust and sweat and it's always, _always_ going to remind you of the pathetic, wimpy excuse for an initiate you were."

"For all I've heard, I'd say you were anything but pathetic and wimpy."

"And what have you heard?" I can't keep the sarcasm off of my voice. Going through initiation along with Number Boy made every one of us feel invisible, to the point that I'm sure no one would even know my name if I wasn't a leader. That's what happened to all the other transfers, anyway.

"Oh, you know. Max offered you a leadership job, so I've always assumed you must have done something right." She smiles at me. "And Four told me that your fear landscape is, as Christina would say, a thing of beauty."

I shrug, sitting next to her on the table. No matter what she says, I'm likely to always think of myself as a failure.

"You of all people should know that being high-ranked doesn't mean you aren't pathetic and wimpy," I say. She shakes her head.

"You're hopelessly pessimistic, you know that?"

Before I can say anything, the door opens again, and Four walks in. He glares daggers at Tris and me when he sees us sitting together on the table, but, thankfully, he keeps his snide thoughts to himself.

"I'm glad you could make it," he says, his eyes focusing on the inch of space between her hand and mine. Then he looks at Tris, and I see the corners of his mouth turn up slightly, like he's trying not to smile at her. "Both of you."

His voice is so devoid of emotion that I almost feel proud of him - like that's an accomplishment or something.

"I wouldn't miss capture the flag for the world," she says, her hand moving that last inch to the side and squeezing mine. I'm not sure if she's doing that just to make him jealous or to thank me for inviting her, but his eyes follow her movement and he looks so hurt, she might as well have kicked him on the balls.

Break-ups. They're always a bitch.

I clear my throat, checking my watch as an excuse to move my hand away from hers. "Should we let the initiates in?"

"Don't you think we should make sure everything is set up first?"

I give him a patronizing look. "I already did. The initiates' guns are in my office, and there's a crate full of guns and paintballs in my living room. Which, by the way, matches my furniture better than my actual coffee table; I'm even thinking of making it a permanent-"

"For god's sake, just give me the keys, Eric."

He sounds so impatient that I'm almost moving in slow motion as I reach into my pocket for my keychain, remove the ring with the key to my office, and hand it to him. My eyes meet Tris', and I could swear I see a hint of amusement in them.

Four walks over to the weapons cabinet, grabs a knife and starts making his way across the room, towards the wooden targets.

"That's not how knives are supposed to land on targets," I point out, my voice deliberately bored. He gives me a tired, annoyed look.

"Is that _really_ necessary?"

I jump out of the table and walk up to him. "Of course it is. We're Dauntless, we're show-offs. It's in our nature, like worshipping chocolate cake and willingly spending time in this godforsaken room."

Tris chuckles and he rolls his eyes, handing me the knife and the keys. "If you really need to show off, that's your problem, not mine."

I turn to face Tris. "Hey, Stiff, can you give me a hand here?"

Four snorts. "Nice choice of words, considering she'll probably lose a hand."

Tris smiles. I'm not sure whether she's acknowledging Four's comment or ignoring him altogether. "Just as I was starting to think the Great Eric didn't have the guts to throw his own knives," she says, taking the keys from my hand as she walks across the room.

She stops in front of one of the targets, holding the keys so that the ring encircles the black dot that marks the centre. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

During initiation, I had to use knives that were a lot heavier than the ones I'd used at home and my practice room was a lot smaller, so I wasn't much ahead of everyone else. For that reason, it's natural, almost expected, that Number Boy - who was light-years away from everyone - would see me as a poor shot.

What he doesn't know is that the target practice stage of leadership training was just _insane_. Our target practice room is bigger than my living room, with dark wooden panels covering the walls all the way to the ceiling. During training, we spent a month walking into it every morning to find bright yellow, one-inch wide stickers all over the place, and our score for the day was the number of dots we hit.

I breathe out, opening my eyes and moving my hand as if I'm about to throw the knife, but I don't release it. Tris looks into my eyes, her expression filled with the same determination and defiance I remember seeing one year ago, while she was standing almost in the same place, waiting for Four to throw knives at her.

I breathe in again and, this time, I release the knife when I breathe out. It hits the target dead centre, and, when I turn to face Four, I can't help saying, "Fuck you very much."

It's all I can do not to take a bow.

"Oh, shut up," Four groans.

Before I can say anything, Tris speaks up. "We should probably let the initiates in."

I check my watch. We still have a few minutes left before the time they're supposed to be here, but, the earlier we get the game going, the better for them. I look at Number Boy, who's still looking as grumpy as ever.

"Anything else left to do?" I ask, although I know the answer. He shakes his head. "Then I guess we can open the door."

Four walks up to the door. The noise coming from the hallway dulls out a bit when he steps out of the room and, in his instructor voice, he tells the initiates to get in.

They follow his order unquestioningly. Once again, I find myself thinking that Jeanine's being overzealous - even for an Erudite - with the whole simulation thing.

After a quick head count to make sure they're all here, I take a step forward and he shuts the door. Most of the talking stops, but it takes a lot to make a bunch of Dauntless fall silent, so it's not surprising that a few people are still chatting and laughing and teasing each other.

"Good evening." I don't even try to sound nice; I know from experience that people are more likely to shut up when you act like you could kill them in their sleep. All eyes turn to me and the room gets so quiet, we can hear the blabber from the hallway. "We've gathered you here to announce we're taking you on a field trip."

Silence doesn't last long in this faction. The words 'field trip' alone were enough to make the initiates explode in chatter.

I see the faces of the Dauntless-borns light up, their excitement matching Tris'. Those are the kids who spent sixteen years hearing about capture the flag and waiting for their initiation to play - because, unlike other Dauntless traditions, we don't allow dependents to take part in it.

The transfers, on the other hand, look _terrified_. I remember that feeling all too well; when Amar woke us up and told us to meet him by the train tracks, I was so sure it was just part of some hazing tradition that I almost refused to leave my bed.

I clear my throat, glaring at a particularly loud girl. That's enough to make them shut up again. "Before we can leave, though, you have to complete a rescue mission." I flash them a smile. I know it only makes me look creepier. "The equipment you'll need for this field trip is on my desk - in my office. Retrieve it and meet us by the train tracks near the Pire. The keys are behind you." Everyone turns around, and one of the boys in the back row takes a step towards the knife on the target. "But," I add, and they turn to me again, "there's a catch. You have..." I check my watch, "twenty minutes to meet us. And we're only taking the train if _all_ of you make it there in time. Good luck."

I walk out of the room without another word. This whole thing was actually Four's idea - the only good idea he's ever had, to be honest. When we were going over the schedule for initiation, he pointed out that the biggest issue he faced during the game was getting the transfers and the Dauntless-borns to work together. It took us about five hours - which, I must admit, were not entirely awful - to come up with the idea to force the initiates to retrieve the weapons in a place the transfers couldn't find on their own.

Of course, I was the one who suggested we punish everyone if the Dauntless-borns don't cooperate.

There's a bunch of members waiting on the hallway. I take a quick look around, just to check if anyone I tolerate has shown up. Tris joins the crowd, standing next to Christina - who's looking a lot more like her usual self in leggings and a tight sweater and _a lot_ of make-up.

I look at Tris, using her grey-blue eyes as my focal point as I say, "Guns are in my apartment."

The twenty or so members follow me back to the Pire - not that they need me to show the way, they just don't seem to be bold enough to walk ahead of me. I hear Christina right behind me, blabbing about work or whatever, and I assume she's talking to Tris, although I know it might as well be Will or Uriah or, well, anyone else - because she's _that_ outgoing.

I unlock the door to my apartment and walk into it. At first, no one dares to follow me, but then Tris drags Christina in, muttering something like, "You didn't force me to describe his apartment in excruciating detail to refuse to walk in when you have the chance." Her boldness - or maybe my lack of reprimand - seems to be enough to encourage them to cross the threshold, and suddenly there's pretty much a party going on in my living room. Someone's even started passing around the bottles of beer they found in my fridge.

I must say, I'd never thought I'd live to see that happen.

"So, this is where the elusive Eric lives, huh?" I look at Christina, who's staring at me with an amused smile on her face. Tris is nowhere to be seen, which isn't entirely unexpected given how much smaller than everyone else she is. "I'm a bit disappointed with your décor, you know. I was expecting you to have a Four-shaped target or the heads of former initiates on your walls."

"Oh, I do. I just keep those in my bedroom."

She laughs, and I realize what that must have sounded like. Her eyes travel down my body and she bites her lower lip, standing on her tiptoes and leaning closer to me. Her voice is just the right mix of innocent and seductive as she asks, "Care to show me?"

I frown at her. I'm sure I've pretty much lost the right to say that, considering the whole thing with Tris, but Christina is the last person in this faction who I'd expect to flirt with me. There must be a catch in there somewhere, but I can't quite put my finger on what it might be.

"Don't you have a boyfriend?"

She shakes her head. Her voice is stern when she says, "Wrong answer, Two." Then, she turns her back to me and walks up to my bedroom.

That's the moment Number Boy decides to walk into my apartment – once again deserving the title of king of poor timing. His eyes move from Christina back to me and I'm sure his hand has balled into a fist again, but he wouldn't pick a fight with me until I give him an irrefutable excuse.

The rational side of my brain ponders that following Christina might be considered the motive he needs, and that I should know better than to lock myself in a bedroom with Tris' best friend. At that thought, I can almost hear Christina teasingly saying, " _That's_ the right answer, Two". But I'm too curious as to why she's acting this way.

She didn't call me 'Eric', though, so I'm guessing whatever she wants has something to do with Tris and me.

She's perched on the footboard, staring at the wall in front of her, and she doesn't look at me when I walk into the bedroom and close the door. For a while, there's only the tapping of her nails on the metal frame of my bed and the loud voices from the outside.

"I don't like you," she states, still staring at the wall.

I feel like laughing. Christina is the epitome of the statement that you can get the girl out of Candor, but you can't get Candor out of the girl; of course she'd open up her speech with something blunt.

"Tell me something I don't know."

"You're sleeping with my best friend." I bite back the sarcastic comment, but that's just because I don't want Tris to get mad at me again - and I really don't want to think about the reasons behind _that_. "I wish I could give you the 'don't hurt her or I'll hurt you' speech, but, let's face it; I can't beat you in a fight." She finally looks at me. "I mean, I hope you know that Four will _murder_ you if you hurt her, but I haven't been liking Four lately, either."

"Then what speech _are_ you giving me?"

I decide to let her comment about Four slide. I have the feeling it has something to do with the real reason for their break-up and, if that's the case, I know all I'll get from Christina is a dismissal.

As for the whole 'he'll murder you' thing, while I'm sure I'd be able to put up a good fight, it's not like he didn't break my nose for much less.

"The 'I just want to make sure you know what you're getting into' one." She gives me the faintest smile. "Tris isn't like the girls you're used to dating, Eric."

"I know that."

"No, you don't. You think you know what type of girl she is because she freaked out about a one-night stand, but that's just the tip of the iceberg." She starts tapping her fingers on my bed again. "FIY, I'm not just talking about sex. I mean, I couldn't care less what you do to her as long as you don't fucking _rape_ her. Actually, I'm kinda glad she's doing someone who would at least have the guts to ask her for a blowjob." She sighs. I frown, wondering if she meant what I think she did. "Anyway, the point is, she told me you agreed on a 'friends with benefits' thing, and... I guess I just want to make sure you have a realistic perspective on how long that's gonna last, because Tris... I can't imagine her not diving head first into this."

She crosses her arms over her chest, her eyes locked on mine like her life depends on it, but she doesn't say anything else. It's almost like she's run out of things to say. I hadn't realized until now how she must be feeling, being locked in a room with me - _me_ , the ruthless leader, the guy who intimidates people with just one look, the monster who hung her over the chasm -, threatening me and challenging me to protect her friend, because she's sure Tris will fall for me and I'll end up hurting her.

"I won't hurt her."

She scoffs. "Maybe not on purpose."

I can't bring myself to disagree with her, because I know anything I could say would be a lie. Being friends with benefits is fun and games until someone catches feelings, after all.

I would know.

"We should probably go before someone notices we're locked in here," she says, walking towards the door. When she reaches it, she turns at me again, the defiant expression melting into a sympathetic smile. "Just so you know, out conversation would've been much different if I hadn't noticed the way you look at her."

"What are you talking about?"

She laughs. "Now, what fun would it be if I spelled it out for you?"

I swear to god she winks at me before turning away and walking out of the room, leaving me dumbfounded in the middle of my bedroom.

* * *

 **A/N**

As promised, here's the sixth chapter. I swear I'll stop teasing you and the next chapter will actually have capture the flag and Eris! Yes, I do remember this is a pairing.

Now, I've been getting questions on reviews/PMs, so let's address them:

\- murmelinchen (seriously, guys, read her stuff, she's great) asked if Tris's ever explained why she and Four broke up. The explanation is likely to be in the next chapter (it was supposed to be in Chapter 5, but the fucking muses made me cut the scene off).

\- Derbygirl63 asked if Eric is based off the books or the movies. Can we have both? I mean, books Eric is probably the least fuckable person in the world, whereas Jai Courtney... Unf. (In all honesty, I think Theo James is the only actor who resembles my image of the characters, but that's irrelevant.) Anyway, I've settled on the image of movie Eric, minus the tattoos, plus a dozen piercings, and with black hair instead of brown. The tattoos had to go because the books don't mention any, and Tris would definitely notice if he had one, but I might give him the sleeves back in some point.

I'll try to look for someone who looks like my Tris. When I find her, I'll let you all know.

To all the other reviewers, thank you so, so much! I love you!


	7. Chapter 7

**Seven**

 _(t-minus 16)_

I watch the city pass by through the train door as Number Boy explains the rules to the initiates. Tris is standing right next to me, our hands almost touching. There's a part of me that would love to lace my fingers through hers, but I wouldn't dare acting on it - Four's been giving me death glares since he saw me follow Christina into my bedroom, and I'm afraid he'd throw me off the train if I so much as look at Tris for too long.

She isn't mad at me, though - at least, I don't think she is. She was standing by the door when I walked out of my bedroom, holding a bottle of beer she'd 'rescued' for me - because she's _that_ awesome - and, when I asked her if she was okay with the whole 'locking myself up with her best friend' thing, she just smiled and said she was more worried about me murdering Christina than about me fucking her.

I can't stop thinking Four has no right to be mad at me for something Tris doesn't seem to care about - actually, I don't think he should be acting like she belongs to him at all.

I don't know why it bothers me so much; all I know is that, right now, I hate him a lot more than my normal level of hatred - which is something I'd never thought would be possible.

"Eric and I will be your team cap-"

Four saying my name snaps me out of my thoughts, and I clear my throat, interrupting him. The fact that he seems to be operating under the assumption that I'll be team captain brings me some relief - it means he wasn't watching Tris and I after we left my apartment this morning.

"Actually, I won't be team captain this year." Acting emotionless is a skill I spent years perfecting, but it's seldom as handy as it is right now. I'm dying a little on the inside for having to say that out loud, but I sound like I don't give a flying fuck about this stupid game. "Tris will," I add, placing my hand on her lower back to nudge her forward. The confusion on everyone's eyes escalates into full-on shock as I step aside and join the crowd.

"Four and I will be your team captains," Tris says, in a cheerful voice that doesn't sound like her at all. She looks up at Four, looking all innocent and doe-eyed. It's the kind of look that turns me on even when it's not directed at me, and I can't help but wonder if she's behaving this way just to _redirect his blood flow_.

It sure as fuck is redirecting mine.

"I pick first; you jump first?" She suggests. Her voice is saccharine, but it sounds as dangerous as my usual steely tone. It's almost like her strategy involves making people underestimate her, the way she involuntarily did with me all through her initiation.

Four gives her the same petulant look I'm used to seeing him use on me. Then, in what sounds like a deliberately nonchalant voice, he says, "Sounds good to me."

She looks at her nails, apparently ignoring him and picking at her cuticles like she hasn't got a care in the word as she says, "Then again, playing in the same place for _four years_ _in a row_ is kind of a Stiff move, don't you think?"

He rolls his eyes so hard, I swear his irises disappear for a second. "Fine," he sighs. "I want Allie."

I stifle a laugh. Allie is just the type of initiate Four likes to pick - a transfer from Amity who's actually kind of strong, but can't throw a punch to save her life. She's only won one fight so far, and it was against this year's slowest transfer - the kind of guy even my grandma could land a punch on.

"Stella," Tris announces, earning a disdainful look from Number Boy. Stella is tall, strong, _second-ranked_ \- just the type of girl he'd never pick, in spite of how much he probably should, considering the initiate with the top scores in target practice is one hell of an asset in this game.

He arrogantly picks another underdog, making it clear he doesn't feel threatened by Tris at all - if anything, he looks like he's expecting her to take the initiates he doesn't want off of his hands.

Looking from the outside, his strategy is quite obvious; I can't believe I'd never noticed it before.

She obviously surprises him when she picks Logan, an Erudite transfer who shouldn't have left his former faction. Judging by his performance so far, he'll be factionless after the rankings for stage one are announced next week, which is a pity, because he's by far the sharpest tool in the shed amongst the initiates.

I'd even have picked him for my own team, if Number Boy ignored him for long enough.

They don't say another word to each other as they go through the transfers. I must admit, most of the time her choices don't look logical at all to me, but I can tell Four's getting increasingly frustrated by the way she seems to always call the next name on his list, forcing him to think outside of his precious box.

When the last transfer walks up to her side of the train, both teams have almost equal amounts of fast and strong initiates, and I can't help thinking Number Boy has no idea what to do with the _undesirable_ half of his team.

He confirms my assumption by asking, "Think you can throw me off my game, Stiff?"

I do my best not to smile, but Tris isn't as kind. "Watch me," she says. Her voice sounds just as sickly sweet as it did before, but that doesn't mean there isn't an underlying threat. Then, she adds, _just a little bit_ lower, "Number Boy."

I can't help laughing at that, but he's clearly not as amused as I am. In fact, the bastard glares daggers at me, like that shit's somehow my fault, and my moment of triumph suddenly tastes a lot less sweet.

As they start picking from the Dauntless-borns, however, I begin to realize Tris wasn't just trash-talking like Four and I usually do. The dwindling number of initiates makes it increasingly obvious that Number Boy's been royally played by his own ex.

We have an odd number of initiates this year.

Tris will be picking the first member - which can be a _huge_ advantage, depending on how well she plays her cards. For the first time since she picked Stella, the name she says is just the one I was expecting.

"Zeke."

Four looks at her like he honestly didn't see that one coming - he definitely hasn't got a single Erudite cell in his whole body. She's caught him off guard and knocked him to the ground, just like she'd said she'd do, and he seems to be having a fuckton of trouble getting back to his feet.

That's a recipe for disaster - and that's exactly what happens.

"Christina."

"Oh, come on, Four," Tris teases. "Put up a fight, will you?" She pretends to hesitate, but her smile foretells her next move. "Uri, darling, I want you."

She sounds like she wants him in more ways than just as a part of her team, but I barely register that, because I'm overwhelmed by the realization of how fucking brilliant she is.

She must have known picking Zeke would make Four want to get even, and that his idea of payback was taking her best friend from her, instead of people who have a shot at taking her down, like Uriah or me. She may have handed him a pawn, but she captured his two knights right under his abnormally long nose.

I can't believe I'd forgotten how much that brain of hers turns me on - I'm pretty sure I'd be getting a huge boner right now if Number Boy wasn't staring intently at me.

 _Fuck._ Is she handing me over? Does that make me a pawn? Or am I a rook being sacrificed for a queen? Is she _that_ sure he'd rather be locked in a glass cage a thousand feet off the ground than have me in his team?

"We don't have all night, Four," she says, in an obnoxious tone that sounds a lot like my usual interactions with him. He sighs, moving his eyes away from me before he does the one thing I've never seen him do - he concedes.

I can hear the defeat in his voice when he calls Will's name.

Tris looks at me with the biggest smile, her hands reaching out for me like she wants to physically drag me to her side of the train. "Eric, babe, you're mine."

I let out a relieved sigh as I walk towards her. When I join the initiates standing behind her, I find myself thinking - for the first time in the whole night - what I'd do with a team like this.

The marsh comes into sight right as I come to the conclusion that I should have asked her about her plans earlier, when I had the chance. I know she wouldn't have told me, but I should've at least tried.

She motions for us to jump right after she picks the last member - as _everyone_ expected, she seems to be going for the Navy Pier Park. I think finding the other team is part of the challenge, so I'd normally frown upon such an obvious choice of location. On the other hand, beating Four at the place where he's played all three of his previous games - the place where they undoubtedly shared some pretty memorable moments last year - would be a painfully ironic victory.

Not to mention, just plain bitchy.

We allow the rest of the team to jump first, and she follows me so closely that her momentum sends her crashing into me just as I stop running and turn around. The collision makes her pretty much bounce back, and she'd have fallen onto the ground if I hadn't wrapped my arms around her just in time to avoid the most demoralizing fall that's ever happened in this faction - a title currently held by Zeke's falling off the building on his less-than-glorious 'first jumper' moment, _three whole years ago_.

We hold each other just a little bit longer than we probably should, but then she shakes her head - a gesture that feels directed at herself, not at me - and pulls away.

Our team clusters around us, all looking at her like they're expecting her next order. Thankfully, everyone seems to have made it so far in one piece - even the transfers who still suck at riding the train.

"Meet me at the carousel," she tells them. "And don't bother being stealthy. We're making the world burn tonight."

I wonder what she meant by that, but, before I can ask her, she's already running towards the carousel, with Uriah closely following her.

I jog behind them - I could easily outrun her, but that would be the opposite of letting her establish dominance. They're yelling and laughing at each other, and I find myself envying her, although I'm not sure if it's because I wish I had someone to run around and laugh with or because I can't imagine behaving this way and being taken seriously.

When they reach the carousel, she jumps onto the platform, but Uriah stays on the ground. Only two members have gotten here before them, and they seem to take Uriah's hint, because they jump off without so much as being prompted.

She turns to face us, her expression just a little sterner than moments ago.

"Eric?" She says my name like she's demanding my attention. I'm used to her voice transpiring annoyance or vulnerability - the latter a newer emotion that I'm still getting used to -, but I can't deny I kind of like Bossy Tris. That's a side of her that feels a lot more like my equal than Stiff Tris and, for some reason, I doubt it'd have issues with the things I'd like to do to her when we get back to the compound. "Come here."

I obediently step onto the platform and stand next to her. She keeps watching the rest of the team for a few seconds before turning to face me.

"Will you be my right hand?"

"As you wish, my liege," I say in jest, nearly bowing my head.

She smiles. "I'll need the initiates in two groups - the ones you'd pick and the ones you wouldn't. I'd do it myself, but you know them better than I do."

"Look at you, delegating and all," I tease, laughing. "It almost makes you look like leader material."

"Don't even joke about it." She glares at me. "I'll also need you to pick one initiate from each group to be my... underlings. Pick people who you think are the most capable of making sure the others are doing their jobs."

I turn to face our team, my brain quickly reviewing all the reports I've read this week as it tries to simultaneously assign each initiate to a group and pick the ones who are the most likely to thrive in positions of power.

"I don't know what you're trying to accomplish here, but can I just say something? You should give Stella the flag and a couple extra boxes of ammo, and place her on a high spot, like a tree or something. That girl is sniper material; it would be a waste if you assigned her to anything else."

The only feedback I get in a while is Tris chewing thoughtfully on her bottom lip, and I'm not sure whether I've just screwed over her entire plan or given her the puzzle piece she was missing.

"I can work with that," she finally says. "Bring her to me."

I stare at her for a little too long - honestly, I can't remember the last time someone gave me an order without trying to word it as a 'strong suggestion', and I don't know how I feel about Tris breaking that streak. Then, she raises an eyebrow at me, flawlessly mimicking my impatient expression, and it's all I can do to sheepishly nod and walk away.

Is this how people feel when they're dealing with me? If it is, I'm starting to understand why everyone hates me.

When I come back, she's sitting on one of the horses, leaning on its fibreglass mane with her legs wrapped around the pole, talking to Zeke, Uriah, and a girl I barely remember from my own initiation.

Shaking off the thoughts about other pole-related activities I'd like to see Tris engage on, I approach them. She sits up straighter, almost slipping off her horse. I wrap my arm around her waist to stabilize her, and she gives me a thankful smile.

"These are Chloe, Logan, and Stella," I say, pointing at the initiates. Tris gives them a total of five seconds of appraisal before rewarding me with an unimpressed look. Logan was definitely an unorthodox choice, and I'm hoping I won't regret it.

"Stella, Eric told me your shooting skills are quite... remarkable."

"I'd say 'unparalleled'," I chime in. Tris gives me an annoyed look - I've kind of missed those - and hands the girl the flag and two extra boxes filled with paintballs.

"I was thinking about placing her on the tower," she says, pointing at a ride that looks like a lighthouse cutout. I can see a hole on the top and a row of seats near the floor but, from this distance and in the dark, it looks like climbing it is nearly impossible. "Zeke will help her get to the top," she adds, as if she was reading my mind. "My only concern is that placing her there would make the flag uncapturable."

"If whatever you're planning works, you won't need to worry about it."

She nods slowly, processing my statement, before looking at the others. "Now that we have that settled, Chloe, Logan, and Ash, you'll be the leaders of our attack teams. You'll be working together to find Four's team and _crush it_ before they even know what hit them."

A manic smile crosses her face before she continues. "Ash, you'll lead the scouts." She tilts her head towards the three members who are standing slightly apart from everyone else. They're all short and slender and, as far as I know, at least two of them went through their initiation fights basically by being faster than their opponents. "Basically, all you have to do is find Four's flag and tell the initiates where it is and how many people are guarding it, so that they'll know how to proceed. Chloe, you'll lead the decoys. You'll storm into their hideout and try to take down as many of them as you can, while the snatchers - Logan, you're leading those - outflank them and get the flag. Questions?"

I was half expecting Chloe to protest about being used as a bait and not taking the flag, but no one says a word. Tris spends a few more minutes discussing attack strategies with them, so they know what kind of decisions they might need to make when they're alone with Four's team. Then, after reminding them that the scouts and snatchers are supposed to be stealthy, she dismisses them and turns her attention to Zeke and Uriah.

"My boys," she says. By now, we've all learned that her saccharine voice is a sign that whatever's coming next won't be pretty, and I can tell they're both expecting some sort of insane request. "I want you to turn all the rides on."

"Wait. You want us to _turn everything on_?" Uriah asks. That's the kind of stupid question that I usually can't help but meet with a rude reply, but I'm just as baffled as he is, so I just pretend I didn't hear it.

"I want them to think this is going to be a walk in the park - pun not intended." She laughs. "And what better way to do it than by making them think we're stupid enough to light up the entire park, right?"

"Technically, we _will_ be lighting up the entire park," I point out.

"Yeah, but it won't be because we're _stupid._ It will be _strategic_ ," she insists. My brain is torn between thinking her idea is utter bullshit and thinking it's quite logical. "I was thinking we could let the members who stay here use the safe seats on the wave swinger and the Ferris wheel."

I have no idea what they're talking about, but her suggestion is enough to get the Pedrads all worked up - with high-fives and hollering and all sorts of overenthusiastic expressions of excitement.

"Uri, when you and Zeke are done with the rides and the lights, can you try to get the loudspeakers to work again? I'm really thinking about going all out with the whole bull's-eye thing." She laughs. "And, Zeke, can you get Stella to the top of the tower? And maybe keep the seats up there?"

"Sure thing, boss," he says, dragging Stella towards the lighthouse cutout ride, followed by his brother.

Tris and I watch them walk away until they step down the platform. She slides off her horse and wraps her arms around my neck, in a gesture that feels oddly intimate, considering the way we've been interacting for most of the night.

"Do you think that's gonna work?"

I can see in her grey-blue eyes how insecure she's feeling about her plan and how much she seems to need my approval, and it makes me wonder if she's less afraid of losing than she is of disappointing me.

"Well, I don't think we can _lose_." I smile. "And the rules don't _explicitly_ state that the flag shouldn't be uncapturable, so Four can't really accuse us of cheating. The only problem is, we can't win if the scouts can't find his flag."

"Ash will find a way," she assures me. "Four has a lot of respect for her ability to think outside the box."

I nod, although I can't remember anything about Ash that could illustrate that statement. My lack of interest in the other kids who went through initiation with me is a bit funny - in a 'that's actually depressing but we're calling it funny instead' way. Just like everyone else, all I cared about was being better than Number Boy.

The platform starts moving with a loud screech, inertia making us shift slightly on our feet. We're moving _so fucking slowly_ , but something in Tris' face suggests that's the fastest it'll get.

"Carousels are lame, apparently," she says, laughing and stepping back. "Our guess is that it's a ride for kids, but you can't have a conversation on _that_." She points at a ride that looks a lot like the carousel, but with rows of metallic chairs chained to the top instead of fibreglass horses on poles. It looks like the creepy lovechild of a weeping willow and a massive playground full of swings, and I really don't understand what her comment means, because both weeping willows and swings are pretty good places for conversations.

I have a feeling she knows I'm confused, because she laughs and takes my hand, leading me through a few rows of horses - which look even creepier now that they're moving up and down on the poles -, until we get to a faded pink structure with two fibreglass loveseats facing each other. She sits on one of the benches and scoots over to the side, patting the space next to her.

I obediently take a seat, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer to me. It briefly crosses my mind that, while the horses are _definitely_ for children, this carriage-like thing is perfect for making out, and that thought makes me wish we were alone. Maybe I'll find an excuse to bring her here again, without anyone else.

Add a full moon and a picnic and we could even have a date.

"Look," she says, pointing at the weeping willow-playground hybrid. I watch the top part move up, getting the swings several feet off the ground, before it starts spinning, faster and faster and faster until the chains are almost parallel to the ground.

It's got to be the coolest thing I've ever seen.

"That's... definitely not a great place to talk."

"Yeah." She laughs. "The Ferris wheel is nice for talking, too, but... It kinda makes me think of Four in a way I'd rather not."

I pull her closer to me, kissing the top of her head. I can't even begin to imagine how hard it must be for her to deal with this kind of memory, when she's clearly still in love with him.

"How are you, by the way?" I ask, deciding that, if we were being serious about trying to be friends, it's acceptable to let her know that I care about her feelings. She frowns at me, looking legitimately confused - although I'm not sure whether she didn't understand my question or she's just surprised that I'm asking. "Four days ago you were _sobbing_ at the Bar because of him, and earlier today you were being kind of a bitch to him, so I was just wondering if you're okay. I know you're a Stiff and all, but I'm here if you need to talk, and I _swear_ you won't be bothering me if you do."

She smiles at me, but whatever reply she was about to give me is interrupted when an eerie music suddenly starts playing over the loudspeakers, making the whole scenery around us feel a lot creepier.

It doesn't feel like we're on a date anymore.

"Have you ever had a girlfriend, Eric?"

"Oh, god, no." My reply is too fast, too definitive, but, while it's not a lie, I'm not too sure if it's true. I've never used this word to talk about a girl in relation to myself, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't understand some of the things she may have to say. Brie and I have been sleeping together for the past two years - which is far too long for most 'friends with benefits' relationships -, and there were those five minutes, a few weeks after the night we fucked for the first time, when I was sure I was in love with her.

It took me a whole month to get over that, and I still haven't forgiven her for the unnecessarily cruel way she turned me down.

"Why did I even bother asking?" She gives me a half-smile that seems to be the best she can do right now. "I know how Stiff that sounds, but I really did think we'd be forever, you know? And I guess I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that we aren't."

"Do you miss him?"

"All the time." The look she gives me is heart-breaking - even for my heartless self. "Christina is my best friend, hands down, but Four... It's a different kind of best friend, you know? He was the only person in this whole faction who truly understood me, because he knew more about me than Christina ever did and because... Well, there aren't many Stiffs around here, in case you haven't noticed. And, as different as we are, we're still two Stiffs. I mean, I bet you understand better than most people why Will would love the wave swinger because of _physics_."

I laugh, glancing at the swing sets from hell and trying to push my Dauntless enthusiasm aside for long enough to allow my Erudite side to revel in how fucking _amazing_ that thing is. It makes me feel just a little bit sad that we're never going to accomplish anything like that again, because waving swings or whatever they are called are the kind of ride that only a Dauntless would find fun and only an Erudite would be able to build.

Tris' foot nudges mine, bringing me back to our conversation. I have the feeling I've just proved her point.

"Do you think you can still be friends? I mean, not right now, of course, but maybe when it stops hurting?"

"No, we can't," she says, in a tone that suggests that saying those words out loud causes her physical pain. I'm torn between probing for more information and being supportive. I know no one in their right mind would consider me a reliable source of reassurance on this particular subject, so I just pull her closer, wrapping my arms around her shoulder and waiting until she's ready to speak again.

This whole situation reminds me of the night at the Bar, when she told me they'd broken up because Four had made a life-changing decision without asking her first. While many decisions could qualify as life-changing, only a handful would be unfixable enough to lead to the break-up of two people who love each other as much as they do.

But I can only think of one thing that could possibly prevent two people who would go to hell and back for each other from being friends.

"He's leaving, isn't he?"

She doesn't reply, but her heavy sigh is enough confirmation for me. We don't say anything for a while - because honestly, I can't think of one single thing I could say to her other than 'he's a pathetic coward and you're better off without him' - and she places her hand on my leg, watching her thumb draw circles on my thigh like it's the most interesting sight ever.

"He asked me to go with him," she says, softly.

"What a dick," I say, before I can stop myself. I've always known he's a major asshole, but expecting Tris to leave her whole life behind for him is the kind of selfishness that even I couldn't have seen coming, especially from a sanctimonious Stiff like him.

"I guess it made sense to him? I mean, we both feel like Dauntless isn't what we were expecting it to be, and we both agree that it's strayed too far from its original values." Her cheeks turn pink, which probably means her Abnegation side isn't too pleased with her last comment. "No offense."

"None taken," I reply, calmly. I wouldn't discuss it in public, but I did come to a very similar conclusion earlier today. "I think _you're_ the one who should be offended."

"Why would I?"

I smile at her, leaning in and kissing her temple. My voice is barely louder than a whisper when I say, "One year ago, some sadistic jerk made you fight Peter. Remember that?"

"How could I forget?"

I take a deep breath, taking in her scent - the combination of vanilla and honey that had been driving me crazy for the past few days. I'd probably be getting a rather inappropriate boner if the conversation wasn't taking me to a particularly painful point of Memory Lane.

Contrary to what Number Boy seems to believe, I don't take pleasure in watching weak initiates getting beaten to a pulp, and my insistence in matching them to bigger kids has a lot more to do with me refusing to coddle the people who have made the conscious decision to join my faction. When I paired Tris up with Peter, I was expecting her to lose, because I knew that, while she was stubborn enough to get back on her feet a thousand times, he was better than her enough to knock her down a thousand and one. That doesn't mean I saw it coming when she didn't come back at all and, to make matters worse, Four had left the room halfway through her fight - because he was in love with her and, apparently, being in love turns first-ranked assholes into spineless pansycakes.

That's how I found myself cradling her bloody, beaten body and carrying her - bridal style and all - to the infirmary. I don't think I'll ever forget the feeling of her limp body on my arms, her blood soaking through my shirt, as the weight of responsibility threatened to overwhelm me.

She made me feel something I'd never thought I'd feel - I was so afraid I'd let Peter go too far that I could barely function.

I was relieved when I was told she would be okay, and she proceeded to _stun_ me for the rest of her initiation. As the days passed, I went from 'I'm glad she's cut' to 'too bad she's cut', and I remember knocking on Brie's door with a bottle of whiskey to celebrate that Edward had left because it meant she'd stay – and, when I watched her fear landscape, I realized her staying was the best thing that had ever happened in this faction.

When she left her job as an interfaction relations analyst, I all but begged Max to offer her an assistant position because I refused to accept that she was willing to waste all that potential, and I don't think I've ever felt as disappointed as I did when she turned him down.

Of course, she doesn't know any of that.

"That fight proved me one thing - you're not a quitter." I rest my head on hers, my hands moving on their own accord to cup her chin. "And it's really unfair to expect you to be one."

She smiles and tilts her head ever so slightly, just enough to allow our lips to meet. Her hands find their way to the back of my neck and pull me closer, deepening the kiss, and before I know it, I'm pulling her to me until she's straddling my lap.

There's a part of my brain that's afraid she'll freak out again - we're in public, and I'm grabbing her ass and pulling her closer to me, and I'm sure she can feel my cock through her leggings. But she's burying her nails on my arms and kissing me just as eagerly as I'm kissing her, and after a whole day of teasing - intentional or not - the last thing I'd like to worry about is whether she still thinks she's too Stiff to fuck me the way she seems to want to.

We're too busy being wrapped around each other to remember we're in the middle of a game of capture the flag - that is, until we hear a gunshot, and I feel the cold paint soaking through my shirt.

* * *

 **A/N**

I'm sorry for the cliffhanger, but it was either ending the chapter like that or not updating for another two weeks, because I'm going on a trip and won't be back until the 15th.

The comment about Four's nose is a reference to the Marauder's Map. (You can get the girl off of the Harry Potter fandom, but you can't get the Harry Potter fandom off of the girl.)

Please review!


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** I don't want to spoil anything, but I strongly recommend listening to Beyoncé's 'Yoncé/Partition' (the back-to-back version that's in the album) as you read the end. I'm sure you'll know when to press play.

* * *

 **Eight**

 _(t-minus 16)_

The next thing I hear is another gunshot and Uriah yelling, "I can't believe you missed!" I slide Tris off of my lap and turn around to see Ethan, a Candor transfer who is kind of known for his poor aim, standing frozen in place, bright yellow paint splattered all over the side of his shirt, his gun still aimed at my general direction.

My guess it that he saw Uriah coming just as much as we saw him.

Uriah grabs him by the arm and drags him towards us, dropping him unceremoniously on the fibreglass bench facing ours. He's livid when he turns to face us, and I'm pretty sure the entire park hears him when he yells, "What the _hell_ is wrong with you? He missed you by a hair, Eric!"

I almost consider replying, because I do know how lucky I've just gotten - or, at least, how lucky I _should_ be feeling, if I wasn't too busy trying to understand why anyone on their right mind would give the initiate with the worst shooting skills the task of shooting a moving target in relative dark. But another gunshot interrupts me before I speak, and it feels like time stops as I watch neon green paint spread over Uriah's shoulder.

Before I know it, we're surrounded by what seems to be the vast majority of the members in Four's team. Christina is bringing Zeke to the carousel, her gun pressed against his back - which I honestly hope to be just a scare tactic, because a shot from this close is quite dangerous -, and two other members are making sure no one from the wave swinger has a chance to escape.

I only have the time to notice two things. First, no one's bothered trying to evacuate the Ferris wheel. And, second, Tris, Zeke and I still have our guns - and, if we manage to get to it, we also have Uriah's.

Christina steps up the platform, approaching us. She all but shoves Zeke our way, and I'd probably have shot her if I wasn't sure it'd be the most stupid decision I've ever made.

"Tell Zeke to get us to the flag," she demands, pointing her gun at my head. It may not be touching my forehead, but she's close enough to hurt me – badly - if she shoots, and it isn't surprising at all when she adds, "Or I'll shoot Eric."

Tris and I exchange a glance. It's pretty obvious that Christina is playing her Stiff side, like everyone else's done at some point, and everyone knows how effective that will be. That means I only have one chance to avoid losing again - I need to buy time so Ash gets the chance to find Four's flag before Tris gives in.

"You wouldn't shoot me from this close," I say, being careful enough to sound nonchalant. The last thing I want is for Christina to see it as a challenge.

"Wanna bet?"

"As tempting as that idea sounds, I highly doubt you'd be stupid enough to hurt someone who's got enough power to make that incident at the chasm feel like a walk in the park."

"I knew you're a sore loser, Eric, but I never thought you'd be desperate enough to seek revenge for a silly little game."

Despite her teasing, I notice she lowers her gun a bit, so it's now aimed at my chest. It'd still hurt like a bitch, but anything is better than a head shot.

"Well, _you're_ the one pointing a gun at my head."

She opens her mouth to reply, but she's stopped by yet another gunshot. This time, the blue splatter on my shoulder leaves no room for doubting if it hit me. I turn to the side and see a smug smile on Will's face.

"That's not how you handle a hostage situation," I state, far too calmly. Being shot may have gotten me out of the game, but that also means shooting me would be pointless - in other words, Christina's just lost her upper hand in the bargain.

"It is when your hostage just won't shut up," he replies.

Zeke chooses this moment to shoot Christina, and someone retaliates by shooting Tris on the chest. Soon, paintballs are flying everywhere, with people firing almost at random. Zeke gets shot on the leg and, with both of the Pedrad brothers out of the game, Four's team is forced to try and operate the tower on their own. Thankfully, Stella is just as good as Jeanine had promised, and she manages not to miss anyone who dares to approach the control panel - much to my surprise, she even nails a few head shots.

There's only a handful of people left when we hear a high-pitched screech, followed by a bright flash of blue light and a loud boom - the flare that announces that one flag has been captured and the teams should regroup so we can go back home.

"We did it!" Tris yells, giving me the biggest smile I've ever seen and wrapping her arms around my neck. On the inside, I'm frantically jumping up and down and screaming like a girl, but I manage to only smile back at her, wrapping my arms around her waist. I see Zeke frown at me but, before anyone can say anything, Uriah is hugging us too, and soon our little celebration becomes a group hug that includes even some of the members who don't belong to Tris' group of close friends.

I somehow manage to slip away from the cluster of people around her, and Zeke follows me. I have the feeling that, as close as he and Tris may have become over the past year, he's still much closer to Four than he'll ever be to her, and winning this game is as bittersweet for him as losing is for Christina.

"Thanks for shooting Christina," I say, before I can stop myself. Apparently, being nice to Tris makes it a lot easier to be nice to everyone else, even when I'm not trying to be. Zeke looks at me like I've just grown a second head or something.

"Careful, Eric," he says, laughing. "People will start thinking you actually have a heart if you keep acting like that."

I glare at him, which only makes him laugh harder.

"You know, your time would probably be better spent getting people out of the Ferris wheel so we can go home, instead of making fun of me."

"I can multitask," he replies, making his way to the Ferris wheel nevertheless.

I glance around myself. Since I don't know how to operate the rides and Zeke doesn't seem to be willing to teach me, I can't help him with the unbearably boring process of emptying the Ferris wheel one car at a time. I also don't feel like joining in on the celebrations, mainly because Tris is the only person here I truly enjoy spending time with - but she's still with her friends, and getting her away from them just because I like her company would be too egotistical.

So, I decide to use this opportunity to inspect the swing waver. After a quick integrity check, I sit on one of the swings. From this close, it's even more impressive than the view from the carousel - even with the ride turned off, it's high enough that my feet can't quite touch the ground. The entire concept of this ride is fascinating, but right now I'm more interested in the fact that it's in surprisingly good shape, considering that the pier hasn't seen proper maintenance in decades.

This thought brings me back to the last Council meeting I attended. We spent almost an entire hour arguing when Joshua - a young Stiff leader who I don't remember having met before - brought up what he called 'the City Restoration Project', which basically consists in sharing amongst all the factions the responsibility for rebuilding the areas of the city that don't belong to any compounds. Obviously, no one was too pleased with the idea of spending so much time and resources on something that wouldn't have a direct impact in our lives, but I'd be lying if I said I can't see any appeal in the possibility of claiming the pier as unofficial Dauntless territory.

Bringing this park back to its original glory sounds just like the kind of job Tris would kill for - assuming she'd be okay with taking a government job again.

I have absolutely no idea how long it takes to get everyone back to the ground, but Zeke and Uriah eventually begin herding the members out of the park. I stay behind so I can make sure we don't forget anyone, and Tris seems to have the same idea, because she doesn't join her friends. Instead, she walks towards me, sitting on the swing by my side.

"So, how does it feel to finally win?" She asks.

"It would feel better if I hadn't been shot _twice_." I laugh. "But it feels too damn great as it is."

"Well, at least you didn't get shot on the chest." My eyes travel down her chest, which is covered in bright pink paint. The person who shot her, whoever that was, has impressive shooting skills - it seems she was shot right above her sternum, which is usually a pretty painful spot.

"Did it hurt?"

"Not more than Will hurt your ego." She makes it sound like she's stating an undeniable truth, and I can't help but laugh. "Speaking of which, he and Uri suggested we go to the Bar to celebrate. Would you like to join us?"

"Are you sure you want me to hang out with your friends?"

"It can't hurt." She shrugs.

I don't answer. On the one hand, my plans for the night are nonexistent, and a glass of whiskey actually sounds quite appealing right now. The problem is that I know her friends don't share her amicability towards me, and I'm not sure if I'm in the mood to partake in a happy hour with people who would be happier without me.

"I was actually thinking that maybe I should head home."

"Oh, come on, Eric. Live a little."

I glare at her. I'm pretty sure I've told her that before, and her tendency to use my words against me is a little unnerving - in a somewhat charming way.

"I'll think about it," I assure her.

She looks at me like she knows I'm just saying that to get her to stop bothering me, when in reality I won't waste a second thought on that subject. Then, seemingly realizing it's a lost battle, she asks, "So, how does it work? Do we have to wait here for the rest of our team?"

"Four should bring them over with him. If he doesn't, Ash probably will."

"Should we get going, then?"

There's a part of me that would like to suggest we stay behind and finish what we started in the carousel, but I doubt she'll accept that, so I just nod and jump out of my swing.

"Race you to the train tracks?" I suggest. She gives me a huge smile and sets off running without another word.

I give her a few feet of advantage and start running, keeping the distance between us roughly constant throughout most of the way back to the train tracks. As fast as she may be, I'm much taller than her and I have two years of Dauntless leadership to my advantage - there's absolutely no challenge in outrunning her, but the same can't be said about being one step behind her all the way back to the train tracks.

We run past the other members about one hundred feet away from our destination, and that's when I pick up speed enough to step onto the tie right before she does.

The look she gives me is priceless.

"Better luck next time, Stiff," I say, wrapping my arm around her waist. I know the issues involving Max and our safety still exist, but, after being shot because I was making out with her, I see no reason to pretend nothing happened between us.

It doesn't mean I won't have to come up with one hell of a lie to protect her, though.

"Shut up, Nose," she mutters, stepping back to join her friends. Something in the way she looks at me feels like an invitation, so I follow her. Christina elbows Will when I approach them, and he unquestioningly takes a step back to make some space for me in their circle.

I almost feel like thanking her for being so nice to me, but I'd rather avoid any remarks about whatever she was talking about when she mentioned the way I look at Tris.

At first, I don't join in on their conversation, choosing instead to just watch Zeke telling stories about all the crazy things he watches from the control room monitors - he almost makes his job sound cool, to the point that I find myself wishing I had more time to randomly watch the feed. Tris starts telling stories about the weird people she meets at the tattoo parlour, and, soon, they're all discussing the quirky side of their jobs.

"Hey, Eric?" Uriah calls me from the other side of the circle. "What the fuck does a leader do all day, anyway?"

His question doesn't feel unexpected at all, but, still, it's all I can do not to laugh. Before Max became a leader, initiation included an entire day dedicated to lectures on the jobs initiates would be able to pick - the visit to the fence patrollers is the last remnant of this old tradition -, but he cut it off to add an extra day of sparring. When it was time for me to introduce my own changes, I didn't feel comfortable bringing it back because well-informed choices felt too Erudite, and there are thousands of reasons why I wanted to avoid being associated with the Noses.

The downside of the lack of career orientation is that no one, even the Dauntless-borns, knows what are the responsibilities of some of the positions - and leadership is the most notable one. All most people know is that Max is our Council representative - and, therefore, the face of our faction -, while I take care of initiation.

I highly doubt the transfers would even be able to list the names of the other three leaders.

"We divide the tasks amongst ourselves. Traditionally, your responsibilities are related to your age - like how initiation is always given to the youngest leader -, but we also take your skills into consideration. Due to my Erudite background, for example, I'm responsible for the education of the dependents, while Max's experience as a patroller was a determinant factor in the decision to assign him some of the homeland security responsibilities."

I hesitate. Almost all of my responsibilities are under some level of secrecy - some of them aren't to be discussed even with the assistants or leaders-in-training -, so it's always hard to go into detail about what I do. Of course, I've met very few people who don't think my job is boring as fuck, so I haven't had many opportunities to go into detail, anyway.

But the people around me are all looking at me like what I've told them is nowhere near enough to sate their curiosity, and their interest feels so legitimate I feel compelled to keep talking. "For obvious reasons, I can't disclose what the other leaders do, nor can I go into detail on what I do. What I can tell you is that I'm responsible for all things related to the education and training of the members. I oversee everything from initiation to job orientation activities."

I somehow make it sound simple, but my real duties are much more complicated than that. Most of my time is spent planning and overseeing at least five training programmes at a time, from the periodic update courses required by some jobs to the training of the new members after initiation. Every time a member goes through any kind of training, their immediate supervisor is required to write a weekly report on their performance, which is then sent to my office so I can read it and file it.

Aside from that, there's also the leadership training. Every year, we offer one leader-in-training position to the initiates, and I'm responsible for the entire process, from picking the instructors to overseeing the critical stages - like the interviews and the fighting lessons -, and it's also my job to write some of the reports and review the others. The official training period ends only two weeks before Choosing Day, and the most frustrating part of this whole thing is that only a small percentage of the people who complete the training actually becomes a leader - and I'm living proof that it isn't even a requirement, in the first place.

"That sounds awful," Christina groans.

"I think it could be worse. I think I'd kill myself if I was the Dauntless Council representative."

"Interfaction relations is actually pretty cool," Tris protests. "I wouldn't have left my job if some leaders weren't such a pain in the ass."

I can't help but laugh at that. I'm not allowed to say that out loud, but I wholeheartedly agree with her. I'm forced to be present in only four Council meetings each year - not to mention those I attend per Max's request or when he's unable to go - and, after every single one of them, I get back home feeling glad I'm not the Dauntless representative. Even if I had any diplomatic skills, people like Marcus, Jeanine, or Jack would still be incredibly hard to work with, and if I were forced to deal with them on a _monthly_ basis, I'm sure I wouldn't last a year before shooting someone.

"I've never been to a Council meeting," Will says, "but I don't think it sounds that bad, considering your current job involves drunk girls asking for tattoos on their _labia_."

"That happened _one time_!" Tris protests, blushing violently.

"Still, Marcus Eaton can't be as bad as that."

"You have _no idea_ how bad Marcus Eaton can be," Four says, approaching us. We quickly expand the circle to make space for him and Marlene, who's covered in a rainbow of paint. I take it as my cue to leave and walk back to the train tracks, jumping onto the rail.

When it comes to asserting authority, few things are more effective than acting nonchalant about risking your life.

"Is everyone here?" I ask, watching everybody look around, making sure all their friends are accounted for. The lack of protests, combined with Four's nodding to indicate that none of the initiates is missing, is answer enough for me. "Initiates, you're required to go back to the compound on the next train with me and whichever members decide to join us. Curfew still stands, and we're resuming stage one tomorrow." Groans meet this reminder, but I just give them an impatient look before stepping away from the train tracks and checking my watch. The train should be here in only a few minutes.

The ride back home is loud, like all Dauntless celebrations - there are even a couple of flasks filled with vodka being passed around. Someone started a paintball war - thankfully, they were sensible enough to put the guns aside -, and there's running and yelling and laughing all around me.

As much as we try to convince people that we're more than stunts and recklessness, I think all of us agree this is the kind of moment that makes us remember why we chose to let our blood drip over a bowl full of coal.

As the train approaches the Dauntless compound, some of the members start jumping off, most likely so they can use the other entrances. The transfers, however, stay put, seemingly waiting for authorization. When Four nods his head towards the door, they all jump out, followed by the remaining members.

They storm into the compound through the back door near my apartment, and I stay behind - because assuring everyone's safety is a never-ending job in this faction. When I finally step in, Tris is leaning against the stone wall across the hall, clearly waiting for me.

"So, are you coming with us?"

I give her a mischievous smile, wrapping my arm around her waist. "Trust me, there's nothing I'd like more than coming tonight," I whisper in her ear. Her cheeks turn red instantly. "But I'm going home."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." I get my keychain off my pocket and remove the ring with the key to my apartment, sliding it into her back pocket and pulling her closer to me again. "You can join me later, if you want." I bite her earlobe. "I'd like to have you sober this time, though, so I'd appreciate it if you could refrain from, you know, doing shots with random guys." She laughs. My hand travels up her back, underneath her shirt. "I promise you'll be greatly… compensated."

"I'll think about it," she promises, brushing her lips against mine.

I watch as she disappears down the hallway before going back to my apartment. Thank god I carry my copy of the master key with me at all times, because I'd hate to have to explain to any of the other leaders why I need to borrow theirs.

I make a beeline for the liquor cabinet - which, thankfully, was left unscathed after the raid on my fridge - and pour myself a glass of whiskey before walking back to the living room, which looks like it's survived a barbaric invasion. There's beer bottles everywhere, and judging by the burn mark right in the middle of my coffee table, some asshole decided it was a suitable substitute for an ashtray.

That's what you get when you host an impromptu Dauntless party attended mostly by people who hate your guts.

On my way to take the beer bottles to the recycling chute, I decide that, since I have an undetermined amount of time to kill, I might as well work a little. So, I stop by my office to grab the notebook I left on my desk and the pile of reports I still have to sort through. I resist the temptation to get another glass of whiskey on my way back to my bedroom - it may be a Saturday night, but it's a bit hypocritical to get drunk when I specifically asked Tris not to.

According to the clock on my bedside table, it's a quarter to midnight when I hear the key on my door. I quickly pile up all the papers that were scattered all over my bed, just in time to put them aside before Tris steps into my room.

"You're back early."

She smiles at me and sits on my bed, way too close to the footboard. "They decided to play Dare," she says, taking her shoes off. "And since I wasn't in the mood to end the night throwing up in Uri's apartment, I decided to call it a night."

"Wow, you really can't hold your liquor, can you?"

She tries to give me an annoyed look but, when our eyes meet, she can't help laughing. I watch her as she takes off her socks and her jacket, carelessly throwing them on top of her boots. Neither of us knows what to do next, so we just stare awkwardly at each other for what feels like an eternity.

"Come here," I say, finally breaking the silence. She frowns, as if she's surprised that it sounded more like a request than like an order - and to be honest, I'm just as startled as she is.

Thankfully, she abstains from comments and scoots closer to me. I run my hand up her arm, burying my fingers on her hair and pulling her in for a kiss filled with lust and longing, and she kisses me back with just as much passion. It doesn't take long before she's straddling my lap again and I'm kissing and nibbling on her neck, earning soft moans from her as my hands travel up her back.

I move away from her to pull her shirt over her head, but the look she gives me when I throw it aside makes me stop in my tracks.

"Tris?" I ask, softly. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," she whispers, unconvincingly. The faint blush on her cheeks makes it pretty obvious that she's lying. I hold back a sigh and rest my forehead on hers.

"Too fast?"

She looks down and gives me a small nod. I smile at her and kiss her again, a lot gentler than before, and I do something I hardly ever do - I let her set the pace. Her hands send a shiver down my spine when they crawl under my shirt, and when she breaks the kiss to take it off, I go back to kissing her neck, laying her down on my bed.

I look into her eyes, watching closely for her reaction, as I run my hand down her body. When I reach the waistband of her leggings, she gives me a small smile and nods, and I don't give her a chance to change her mind before I take them off.

"You're so. Fucking. Hot," I whisper, kissing her jaw. I know she's giving me an incredulous look - low self-esteem is all but encouraged in Abnegation, after all -, and I'm glad she doesn't try to argue with me.

I take it to mean I'm doing something right.

I slowly make my way down her neck, her breathing getting heavier as I graze my teeth over her collarbone. By the time I reach her bra, she's moaning softly and running her nails over my back, and I watch her throw her head back in surrender when I take it off and start nibbling on her nipple.

I play with her breasts until she's squirming under me, then I move on to her stomach, pulling her panties off as I kiss my way down her right leg. When I reach her foot, I stop, giving myself a few seconds to look at her - _really_ look at her - before taking her left foot so I can kiss my way back up.

I'm halfway up her thigh when she calls me, looking more than a little confused.

"What are you doing?"

I can't help laughing. I should have seen it coming; if Number Boy couldn't even ask for a blowjob, it's almost unfair to expect him to have eaten her out.

Still, I think it's unfathomable that he hasn't.

"Do you trust me?"

Her answer comes without the slightest hint of hesitation. "Yes."

"Then trust me," I say, almost like it's so obvious that I'm offended by her question. "Unless, you know, you want me to stop."

This time, she hesitates for a heartbeat. It takes all my willpower not to touch her until she gives me the green light - but swaying her into ignoring her limits, even if it's about something as small as letting me go down on her, sets an awful precedent for any future requests.

Then, she all but begs, "Please, don't stop," and I gladly comply, smiling mischievously before turning my attention back to her thigh. Her moan when I run my tongue over her folds sounds just as heavenly as she tastes and her nails dig into my shoulders when I begin flicking my tongue over her clit, and I can't hold back a satisfied groan.

I've never been one to enjoy 'firsts' - I can't stand the idea of wasting my time teaching stuff to someone I'm likely to never fuck again - but I can't deny I'm enjoying how easy Tris is. She responds to the slightest touches, jerking her hips when I do something especially right, moaning deeply and burying her hands in my hair so she can pull me closer as her orgasm builds.

" _Fuck_ ," she whispers breathlessly, as I slide a finger into her pussy. I smile, look up at her - my all-time favourite view of a girl's body - and begin moving my hand in synch with my tongue.

I can tell it drives her crazy because I've never seen a Stiff swear so much.

She screams my name as her orgasm washes over her, her body tensing and her nails digging painfully into my scalp, her legs wrapping themselves around me and her back arching. I wrap my arm around her legs, placing my hand on her stomach to pin her down and, although I do slide my finger off of her as soon as she relaxes, I wait until she's begging me to stop before I move away from her clit, kissing my way up her stomach until our mouths meet.

"Do you need a minute?" I ask, teasingly, biting her earlobe.

"Nope," she replies, her breathing still irregular. I smile, reaching out for my bedside table so I can get a condom.

She feels as amazing as I remembered, and her reaction only makes it feel even better - she gives me the whole package, with a loud moan and her nails digging on my triceps and her legs wrapping around my waist. I'm so incredibly aroused that it's all I can do to lean down on my elbows and move my hips ever so slowly, feeling every single inch of her - and, although I know there's no way I'll make her come before I do, she's clearly enjoying it, which is enough of a reason to keep this excruciating pace up for as long as I can.

When I can't take it anymore, I start moving faster, doing my best to keep the pace steady as my orgasm builds up and threatens to overwhelm me. Her lips brush against my ear as she whispers my name, asking me to "please come for me," and I bite down on her shoulder, stifling a moan, my movements and my breathing becoming increasingly erratic until, with a deep, hard thrust, I finally find my release.

I slow down again, riding out my orgasm, until she moves her legs away from my waist, her hands travelling down to my chest so she can nudge me away. Pulling out of her makes me feel something akin to grief, but I do it without protest, lying on my back on the bed and throwing the condom aside as she snuggles up against my chest.

She falls asleep before I even get the chance to say something, and, after pulling the blanket over our bodies, I wrap my arms around her and close my eyes, allowing the rhythm of her breathing to lull me to sleep.

* * *

 **A/N**

I'm back! I'm sorry it took so long! I wrote most of this chapter on the twelve-hour flight back home, but I struggled a lot with the sex scene. I'm pretty sure I'd have given up on it if The Boyfriend hadn't given me encouragement and one hell of a lot of advice on how to write it from Eric's perspective.

Now, a few notes:

. I promised a few chapters ago that I'd let you know when I figured out who I picture as Tris, so here we go: Amanda Seyfried's face kept popping up in my head as I was writing the sex scene, although I was pretty settled on Dakota Fanning until then. I actually think they look a lot like each other, so, can we have both again?

. I've created a playlist on Spotify with songs that ~inspire~ me. If you want to check it out (you'll need an account), it's at (goo. gl/ 1eJuas) (you'll have to copy it, I'm sorry). If you want to recommend a song, leave the name and artist on the reviews! My musical taste is all over the place, and I'm always looking for new things to add to my main list.

. I finally stumbled upon the source of the 'Number Boy' nickname, so let's give credit where it's due: I borrowed it from Felyneve's stories, especifically the 'Superior' trilogy. They're Eric/Four (which is a surprisingly unloved ship, btw), but I fell in love with them.

. When I posted the last chapter, I was using a non-cooperative computer, so I had to keep my A/N to the minimum. I just want to thank everyone who's read, reviewed, followed and favourited this story after the past few chapters. Your feedback has been amazing, and you're the main reason why I keep writing it. I hope you liked this chapter too!

I don't think the next update will take too long, because I have a pretty good outline of what I want to do with the next three chapters (unlike the past three, which pretty much just came up as I wrote), so, who knows, maybe I'll update this story before the month is over!

Thank you so much for reading! Don't forget to review!


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** This chapter's song is Coldplay's 'The Scientist'. (I'm not trying to make fetch happen or anything, but it came up on my playlist as I was reviewing the chapter and it fit the mood way too well.)

* * *

 **Nine**

 _(t-minus 15)_

I'm sitting on a metal chair, thick rope wrapped around my wrists, torso, thighs, and ankles, wound so tightly around my body that even breathing proves to be a challenge.

The room around me is a large circle, with white tile all over the walls and floor, bright fluorescent lights on the ceiling, and rows of wooden benches surrounding me. It looks and feels clinical, almost like the Anatomy laboratory in Erudite's Upmost Levels building - which is quite an unsettling thought, considering my chair is placed where the metal gurney should be.

I have no idea how much time passes before the door on my right opens, and hundreds of black-clad people storm in, looking more rebellious than ever against the sterile-looking room. After all the seats are occupied, five hooded, faceless figures walk in, and the Dauntless crowd that surrounds me falls silent, watching them with reverence, like they always do whenever all five of their leaders walk into a room.

The usurpers line up in front of me. The shortest one places a briefcase on the table by my side, and I know what's inside before they even open it.

Five guns. One bullet.

The figure in the middle - a tall man, with deep blue eyes that feel somewhat familiar - is the first to speak up.

"Eric Moen," he says, and I can feel the hatred in his voice. "You're on trial for treason."

I give him a quizzical look. "Oh, so _that's_ what this is?" My tone is amused, although my heart is racing and it's getting increasingly harder to breathe. I won't give him the pleasure of watching me squirm. "I was _just_ about to say that my birthday is in April."

I hear a few laughs, but the man just glares daggers at me. The person on his right places their hand on his shoulder and takes a small step forward.

"Would you like me to tell you your crimes?" She asks. Like his eyes, her voice feels familiar, but I can't quite place it. All I know is that her tone transpires disappointment, and it makes me feel even worse than the hatred from the man. Whoever she is, I must actually like her. "Or would you like to list them yourself?"

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath and pushing my feelings aside. My expression remains placid as I run my eyes over the crowd, not finding a single familiar face amongst the people I supposedly see every day.

Which means they're either dead or standing right in front of me.

"I want Tris to list them," I demand. The five usurpers hesitate, looking at each other like they're having some sort of wordless discussion, before the shortest leader takes a step forward.

"You betrayed your faction and conspired with Erudite. Your actions led to the deaths of hundreds of Abnegation and dozens of Dauntless. You're also responsible for the suicides of dozens of Divergents, not to mention the ones whose life you took upon yourself to end. You broke the 'faction before blood' principle by dressing up as a Nose every week so you could visit your mother." The crowd explodes in shouts of disapproval, and Tris waits for them to calm down before resuming her list. "You are guilty of interfaction espionage, both when you used confidential information to prepare for initiation and when you leaked classified documents to Jeanine Matthews. You allowed Jeanine to influence your decisions, thus failing to fulfil your job as a faction leader." She clears her throat. "Do you deny any of these accusations?"

I stare right into her grey-blue eyes, my voice sounding much more proud and confident than I truly feel when I say, "No."

She gives me a small nod and steps back, standing beside the man with the dark blue eyes. Another usurper - one that hasn't spoken up yet - approaches the table, and the feeling that I'm running out of time overwhelms me. "But does that mean I deserve to die?" I ask, still looking into Tris' eyes.

"Yes," she replies, her steel-cold voice feeling like a slap in the face, although I can't remember why I'd expected her to have mercy towards me. "You have just confessed to committing every crime that warrants execution under the laws of Dauntless," she adds.

"Fair enough." I smirk, moving my eyes to the man on her right. "Do I at least get a dying wish?"

"We don't take requests from criminals," the fifth cloaked figure - another woman, who sounds like she's bored out of her mind - says.

"Dauntless law states that faction leaders are entitled to a dying wish." I give her a patronizing smile. "So you can either give me one or become a criminal yourselves. Your choice."

She doesn't even hesitate before conceding. "What do you want, Eric?"

My smile widens, my anxiety long forgotten. All I can feel now is the sweet taste of my long-awaited revenge.

"I want Tobias Eaton to shoot me."

The hatred in the dark blue eyes gives way to murderous rage. I spent three years holding his name over his head, never allowing him to forget how much power those two little words gave me.

Shouldn't he have expected me to throw the shit in the fan as my final act?

He reaches for one of the guns, handling it with the mechanical precision I've come to expect from one of my faction's initiation instructors. When he turns to face me, the fiery hatred in his eyes gives way to the coldness of detachment.

"Be brave," he says, and I'm not sure if he's talking to me or to himself.

He doesn't know that, but I know what his third fear is - and I know he's too much of a Stiff to take my life without having a guilt trip about it at some point down the road. I also know that, as cold and ruthless as you might think you are - as cold and ruthless as you might actually be - murder isn't something you get over.

It's something you get used to.

He presses the barrel against my forehead, and I force myself to look up, ignoring the cold steel of the gun in favour of the cold steel of his eyes, gathering all the defiance I still have left as I say my last words.

"Long live the King."

* * *

I wake up with a start, still feeling the ghost of a gun against my forehead, and it takes my half-asleep brain a few seconds to get over the panic and process that I'm in the safety of my own bedroom, with total control over my limbs, while Tris looks about as dangerous as a kitten as she sleeps by my side.

The clock on my bedside table says it's a little past four in the morning, but I've had enough nightmares in my lifetime to know I won't be able to fall back asleep, so I get up and walk into the bathroom, doing my best not to wake Tris up.

When I come back a few minutes later - with my face washed, bladder emptied, and teeth brushed -, she's still in the exact same position I left her, so I just grab the pile of reports from my bedside table and tiptoe my way out of the bedroom.

I make it to the door before I hear the sheets ruffling, and when I look back at Tris, she's sitting on my bed, my blanket wrapped around her chest.

Now, _that's_ a sight I could get used to.

"So, I take it you're not coming to bed?"

I shake my head. "I'm sorry I woke you. I didn't mean to-"

"It's okay." Even in the dark, I can see her smile. "The question is, are _you_ okay?"

I hesitate. It crosses my mind that I could simply lie to her, but I end up deciding against it. There are many reasons why I wouldn't want to share the contents of my nightmare with her - from my discomfort at the thought of showing vulnerability to an even more unsettling fear of her reaction - but there are just as many reasons why I _should_.

I've always known we were bound to reach the point when Tris would expect me to open up just as much as she'd been opening up to me. More importantly, if I want her to help me stop the war, I'll need to stop avoiding this subject - and time won't stop to wait for me to get ready for this.

"I'm fine," I say, sitting on the bed. "It was just a nightmare."

She tilts her head, and I'm pretty sure she's giving me a curious look. "Tough, emotionless leader Eric can't sleep because of a _nightmare_?" I was expecting her voice to transpire amusement and scorn, but the only thing I hear is concern. "Exactly how bad was it?"

I sigh. "The kind of bad that comes straight from your fear landscape."

I can tell she's taken aback. It takes her a few seconds to find something to say, and when she finally speaks again, her tone reminds me of the Abnegation volunteer who administered my aptitude test. "Would you like to talk about it?" She reaches out for me, and although she doesn't come anywhere near touching me, I find some comfort in the gesture. Still, I don't answer, and after almost a whole minute waiting for me to spontaneously say something, she asks, "What fear was it about?"

"Powerlessness," I answer, promptly. I have no doubt I haven't gained a thirteenth fear; most of my fears are subject to interpretation, and in all my 'official' fear landscapes, I found myself tied to a chair with a gun on my head for this particular fear.

But, as accurate as my answer may be, I can tell she's not satisfied with it - she's too Erudite to simply accept that's all the information she'll get. On the other hand, she's too Abnegation to push me further when this subject clearly makes me uncomfortable.

"I dreamt about my execution," I admit, ignoring the way my heart speeds up and my stomach churns at the memory of the ropes around my body and the barrel of the gun on my forehead.

She gives me a surprised look. "And why would you be executed?"

I hesitate again, the list of my crimes echoing in my ears. Treason, betrayal, _murder_. I remember the harshness in Dream Tris' voice when she said I deserved to die, and I'm sure Real Tris would feel the same way about me if she knew all the sins I've committed.

She will have to know, though. It's only fair that she knows who she's in bed with.

"Because I deserve to be."

I can feel the curiosity in her eyes, but she just gets up, picks my shirt and her panties off the floor, puts them on, and sits back on the bed. It all feels more than a little ominous - it reminds me of how I told her to get dressed before that clusterfuck of a conversation, one _morning after_ ago.

"Okay, look." Her voice is just a little sterner than it'd been thus far. "I'm getting a bit bored of playing twenty questions, so are you gonna tell me why on Earth you think you _deserve_ to die, or what?"

"Look, Tris, I... I want to tell you everything, but I- It's complicated." I sigh, scooting over to her side, so I can rest my back against the headboard - and avoid looking at her altogether. "Do you remember the conversation we had back at the Bar?"

"Some of it, yeah."

"Well, I wasn't lying when I said I believed I was doing the right thing all along, or that I was just following orders." I bite the rings on my lip, tugging on them so hard that it hurts a little. "I guess the bottom line is, I can't tell you anything unless you promise me you'll give me a chance to explain."

She hesitates. I'm sure she knows a thing or two about all the shit I've done, and my reluctance to talk about this subject is making it clear that her knowledge barely scratches the surface. She's probably expecting me to confess to abominable, unforgivable, unexplainable things - which means that, from her point of view, I'm asking her to make a promise she won't be able to keep.

"I can try to listen, if you don't try to bullshit me."

"How about we begin with the elephant in the room, then?" I give her my best attempt at a conciliatory smile. "Jeanine's been planning a war and I play a huge part in it. In fact, most of the things that happened in my life in the past five years have been connected to it in one way or another." I close my eyes, and memories from my nightmare resurface against my will. "I'm fully aware of all the strings Jeanine's pulled in order to ensure I'd become a leader, and, yes, she did place me in this position so she'd have an ally."

"And by 'an ally' you mean, 'a lapdog'."

"That's a gross oversimplification," I protest, trying not to sound offended. "She needed someone who'd steer Dauntless in the direction she wanted, and she placed me in leadership so I could be this person. Having a faction leader in her hand also ensured she'd have access to confidential files, such as initiation reports and simulation records."

"So _that's_ how she watched my simulations."

"That's part of the story, yeah. She knew where to look because I pointed her in your direction."

"Because you were hunting for Divergents." Her tone is free of judgement, like she's just stating a widely known fact, and it makes me wonder when - and how - she found out about that.

Deciding I could live without an answer for that, I simply nod and add, "And I wanted her opinion on you, yeah."

"And what did she say?"

"That I should keep an eye on you."

She nods, slowly. "Is that what you're doing now? Keeping an eye on me?"

"No. I'm actually ruining everything we've ever worked for by telling you all this." I reach for her hand, but decide against it halfway through the gesture - she's too uncomfortable with what I've already said, and the worst is yet to come. "But, yeah, I've been tasked with hunting Divergents. My _investigations_ \- to use Jeanine's word - have led to at least a dozen suicides and the murder of three people."

"You've _murdered_ people?" The shock in her voice makes me feel almost embarrassed. Tris is the girl who spent a year thinking I'm a monster whose moral compass was always pointing in the wrong direction, but even she hadn't thought I was capable of taking someone's life.

"Yes," I reply, looking down at my lap. "If it makes you feel any better, it was _awful_." For the first time in my life, I allow myself to regret the choices that led me to that. I still remember the first person whose life Jeanine asked me to end - an Erudite man, who was a few years older than my father. His face haunted me for weeks, and his voice - brittle, deep, filled with arrogance - still comes up in my nightmares every now and then.

The second time - a Dauntless initiate, two years ago - was a lot easier, although I'm not sure if it's because I was able to push my emotions aside for the whole ordeal - and its aftermath - or because I couldn't quite shake off the thought that I was already a monster, and no amount of lives spared could make me uncross that line.

I didn't attend her funeral, though. I spent that afternoon alone in my apartment, nursing a bottle of vodka.

"It doesn't," Tris states, getting up and walking across the room. Every step she takes makes it harder and harder to breathe, and I find myself thinking that she can't leave me here - she promised she'd listen to me, she promised she'd let me explain.

She's reached the door when she turns around and looks at me again, her expression hidden by the dark.

"I must admit, I'm a bit curious. How do you expect to make me understand _murder_? God knows I don't lack empathy, Eric, but what makes you think I'd ever understand why you thought you had the _right_ \- And to talk about that like it's no big deal! What kind of _monster_ are you?"

She sounds so angry, I'm almost convinced she walked away from me just so she didn't slap me or something - but her words and the hatred in her voice are far worse than any physical pain she'd ever be able to inflict on me.

"You know what? You're right. I don't even know why I thought you'd understand. I mean, do you really think it's about- I don't think I have the _right_ to do anything, Tris. I felt like shit afterwards - in fact, I still do. But I had to do it."

"Why?" She crosses her arms over her chest, staring defiantly at me. "And don't even _try_ to feed me the 'Divergents are dangerous' bullshit."

"Well, you must agree that, from Jeanine's point of view- She doesn't _understand_ Divergents, of course she thinks they're dangerous." Tris glares at me. "I promised you I wouldn't bullshit you, remember? All I'm saying is, Jeanine thinks she's got plenty of reasons to try to kill all Divergents."

"Do you agree with her?"

"I have enough knowledge on Divergents to know just how dangerous they can be. And as a leader, I fully understand the advantages of only having non-Divergents in a faction. So, honestly, I see where she's coming from, and I've accepted the logic in her reasoning a long time ago." She opens her mouth to say something, but one look from me gets her to shut up and lean against the wall, her eyes boring holes into me. "That doesn't mean I agree with her. I'm actually not sure what I believe in this matter, but I do know it's not something worth murdering for. Worth _studying_ , perhaps."

"Then why did you do it?"

"Tris, we're planning a coup. We'll burn Abnegation down, so to speak, for Jeanine's idea of greater good." I hesitate for just long enough to gauge her reaction. I hadn't told her _who_ we're planning on overthrowing, but, judging by the complete lack of change in her expression, it seems she and Four had that figured out, already. "For years, I've believed in it enough to join in on the planning of the destruction of an entire faction."

"So what you're saying is, you believed in it enough to think that a few extra deaths were nothing?"

"That's one of the explanations, yeah."

The outrage in her expression makes it perfectly clear I'm being remarkably successful at digging my own grave.

"Oh, I'm dying to know the others," she says, sarcastically. "Let me guess; the way you see it, you're doing them a favour by sparing them the trauma of a war."

"Okay, look." I sigh. I'm suddenly feeling incredibly tired of this conversation. "I suppose it's been established so far that, if I told you to kill someone for me, you'd tell me to fuck off."

"Not in those words, but yeah."

"But what if I reminded you that I know you're Divergent?"

I see her eyes widen - not that I understand why she'd be surprised by this admission. "If you wanted to kill me for that, you would have, already."

"Not if you were more useful alive than dead." I get up and walk over to where she's standing. She watches me warily, her hands balling into fists - as if she could possibly defend herself against me. "But, you see, that means you're only safe for as long as you can keep me convinced that you're still useful. Now, how far would you be willing to go to prove me your allegiance is in the right place?" I reach out and cup her chin; her flinching at my touch is a bit hurtful, but not enough to be bigger than the feeling that I've got my message across as flawlessly as expected. "Would you be willing to kill someone to save your own life?"

She stares into my eyes for _minutes_. I watch her expression soften as the anger fades out, being replaced by something close to understanding. She uncrosses her arms, runs a hand over her hair, and says, "But you're not Divergent."

I rest my left hand on the wall at her side, leaning in closer to her and whispering, "Or am I?" My right hand travels down her body, stopping at her waist. "You're a smart girl, Tris. I'm sure you've noticed I'm not like most Dauntless. I've seen the way you look at me when I say something I shouldn't." Her eyebrows furrow, and she seems to be having a really hard time accepting this information. "Look, if you don't believe me, we can-"

"I believe you. I think." She smiles. "I just don't understand. I mean, okay, let's say you were in on it because you had no other choice. And that she wants to kill Divergents because she's afraid of... I don't know, whatever it is that she's afraid of. The problem is, you make it sound like she'd known about it for a while before you transferred, but I've never heard of anyone going through simulations before the aptitude test, so when did she find out? How? And why didn't she kill you? I get it, you're more useful alive, but what made _you_ , specifically, more useful than threatening? What makes _you_ so special?"

Her inquiry is so spot on, I can't help smiling at it. I've lost count of how many times I've asked myself the exact same questions, and it's hard not to see them as a reminder of what I like the most about her - her Erudite-like intelligence is simply irresistible.

Before I know it, I'm shifting my weight on my feet, closing the distance between our bodies. My hand travels further down her body, pulling her shirt up, and she lets out a satisfied sigh when my fingers graze over the bare skin on her thigh.

There's a huge part of me that would like to wrap her legs around my waist and fuck her against the wall, but that tiny rational side is desperately trying to remind me that, a few minutes ago, she was freaking out and calling me a monster, and I'm so not ready to deal with her regret again. So, I close my eyes and step back.

"Jeanine found out about me when I was fourteen," I say, while still trying to decide how far I want to take this explanation. The day Jeanine found out I'm Divergent was, along with the day I first met Max and my Choosing Day, one of the days that irrevocably changed my life. Telling Tris about that feels even more personal than the conversation we've just had.

"It's a really long story, but the super short version is, one day, she took me to her lab for some... testing." I sit on my bed again, patting the space by my side, and she obediently follows me. "She gave me a glass of water and next thing I knew, I was at the school cafeteria, being told to choose between a knife and a block of cheese. It felt illogical to face an unknown situation without a weapon, so I took the knife, but I couldn't bring myself to kill the dog. I had that nagging feeling that I wouldn't really die, even if it jumped at my throat, so I just stood still and waited." I sigh. Little did I know, a few years later I'd be watching other people's simulations and looking for things like being willing to die or noticing the logical flaws in the scenario.

"I don't know why she didn't just get rid of me. My theory is that she'd been looking for an Erudite/Dauntless hybrid for a while." I lay down on my back and stare at the ceiling. I must admit, my real theory goes much further than that. After my aptitude test was over, Jeanine gave me a copy of the Erudite IQ test. My score was the second-highest recorded amongst living members, which means there's a huge chance I'd have become the Erudite leader if I'd chosen to stay - and stepping down to allow a Divergent to take her place is likely to be in Jeanine's fear landscape.

That could have further encouraged her to kill me, but she preferred to see it as yet another reason why I was exactly what she was looking for. So, she gave me truth serum and dared me to lie - which I did, despite the awful, overwhelming pain that came with it, until I learnt how to twist the truth just the right way to avoid the side effects. After it wore off, she gave me peace serum and watched as I fought it - it felt so goddamn awful that I still avoid getting anywhere near the Amity compound -, and she looked _awed_ when my anger finally managed to overpower the grasp of the mind-numbing serum from hell.

I'd never thought I'd see someone look so satisfied at having a chair thrown at them.

My guess is that, when I went through my fear landscape in little over an hour - a remarkable result, considering I have _twelve_ fears and the average time amongst Dauntless initiates is seven minutes and a half - Jeanine realized I was _un-fucking-stoppable_.

Which meant that I was the ally of her dreams, for as long as I agreed with her cause or she had any leverage on me. And if _that_ didn't make me special, I don't know what would.

But I can't tell Tris any of that - the less she knows about what I can do under a simulation, the better, at least for now. My survival after stopping Jeanine might depend on her ignorance.

"I know there must be other people like me, but I was the only one Jeanine could find," I explain. "I guess that's why I'm _special_."

She laughs and lays down on her side, resting her head on her arm so she can look at me. "As far as I know, that doesn't sound like Jeanine at all."

"Hm, I don't know. I don't think anyone knows what's going on in her head, anyway."

She nods, biting her lower lip with a thoughtful expression. Then, with a sigh, she wraps her arm around my torso, watching her fingers move slowly back and forth over my stomach.

"Tris?"

"Yeah?" She looks up at me, blushing slightly.

"Do you still hate me?"

She laughs. "Does it look like I do?"

"Good." I smile. "Would you like to help me end a war?"

She gives me a puzzled look, but it quickly gives way to amusement. "Atonement for your sins _and_ saving my parents? Count me in."

* * *

 **A/N**

So, here's (most of) what's left of Eric's background. I hope you liked it!

I want to thank you all for the incredible feedback I've been getting. In the last chapter, this story reached over 50 faves and 100 follows, and I'm sure we'll reach 50 reviews with this chapter. This is so much more than I was expecting, and I'm so, so happy that you seem to be enjoying it.

Thank you for sticking with me so far!

I also need to add a few notes about Eric's last name. I'm aware that Coulter is widely accepted as canon, but his last name can't be in the C's because Four mentions that there's only one transfer from Erudite in his year and there's an interaction between the two of them right after Four chooses. Erik **a** Moen is the amazing artist behind Oh Joy Sex Toy, a web comic about all things sex, and my brain just refused to accept any other last names for Eric. I mean, if you pronounce it _just right_ it sounds just like 'moan', and I'm too immature to ignore that.

Anyways, see you on Chapter Ten! Please fave/follow/review/PM/send me pitchforks (wink wink, Boyfriend).


	10. Chapter 10

**Ten**

Tris POV

 _(t-minus 15)_

"I don't think anyone knows what's going on in Jeanine's head, anyway."

His dismissive tone, as usual, shuts down the conversation. For some reason, the silence that grows between us makes me acutely aware of the fact that _I'm lying on Eric's bed_ , wearing nothing but his shirt and my underwear - and it's not like he's fully dressed, either, unless flannel pants are considered a full outfit.

There's a part of me that still doesn't know how we got here, or how I went from feeling my skin crawl whenever he walked into a room to coming over to his apartment with the sole intention of sleeping with him.

As if that wasn't surprising enough, he's been uncharacteristically _nice_ to me in the past few days. Between his unexpected support in everything related to my relationship with Tobias and how gentle and caring he acted last night, I've been finding it harder and harder to believe this is the same person who committed all the atrocities I've always held over his head.

I sigh, wrapping my arm around his bare stomach. My fingers trace his muscles, and I follow them with my eyes in an attempt to avoid his stare.

I know he'd call me a Stiff if I said it out loud, but the moment we're sharing feels intimate - the kind of intimacy that it took forever to build with Tobias. Just thinking about it scares the hell out of me, not only because it's all happening too fast, but because it's _Eric_ , and I still haven't figured out how I should feel about him.

He may not be as unpleasant as I used to think he was, but he's spent years plotting a war that's likely to kill my parents and being a ridiculous plaything for Jeanine, who's been using him to hunt down Divergents - and although he's one of us, he's blindly followed all of her orders, including the ones involving _murder_.

That is an issue in itself. As heartfelt as it may be, his regret doesn't change the fact that he's _murdered_ people. _Plural_. And, while his explanation did make sense, I still can't quite shake off the feeling that the last thing on my mind should be how good of a kisser he is.

"Tris?" He calls me, his voice almost sheepish - another emotion I'd never thought he was capable of feeling, let alone expressing.

I look up at him, feeling my cheeks burn. Sometimes, it almost feels like he can read my mind, and, in moments like this, this ability feels even more unsettling.

"Yeah?"

"Do you still hate me?"

I smile at him. Yesterday, asking him the exact same question felt like a huge step for me, not only because of what I hoped it would lead to, but mainly because I'm not used to feeling as vulnerable around him as I did at that moment. I wonder if that's how he's feeling right now, and the idea that _Eric_ might be feeling anything even remotely related to vulnerability makes me feel almost _happy_.

I look down at my hand again, trying to remember the exact phrasing of his reply.

"Does it look like I do?"

"Good." He smiles at me and, for the umpteenth time, I find myself thinking he looks _very handsome_ when he smiles. He wraps his fingers around my wrist, flattening my palm on his abdomen. My heart flutters - my fear of intimacy has been threatening to make a comeback since he kicked me out of his apartment a few days ago - but relief quickly washes through my body when he asks, "Would you like to help me end a war?"

I frown at him, wondering for a brief moment what could possibly have led him to such a drastic change of heart. But I decide that I don't care about his motivations as long as I get the chance to save my former faction, so I just smile at him.

"Atonement for your sins _and_ saving my parents?" I ask, almost flawlessly mimicking the fake amazed tone he used on me yesterday morning. "Count me in."

"Maybe we should start with what you know," he suggests, letting go of my hand and sitting up on the bed, turning to face me just in time to see me lamely attempt to give him a confused look. "Cut the bullshit, Stiff," he chastises me. His reaction is so unexpected that I can't help widening my eyes in shock, and he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before adding, "I know you know a lot more about Jeanine's plans than you're supposed to."

I sigh, wondering how much I could tell him without dragging Tobias into it. I look away from him, deliberately avoiding his piercing blue eyes. "All I know is that she's planning an attack on Abnegation."

His satisfied smirk lasts for just a second before he raises his eyebrow, giving me _that_ look - the one that precedes the moments when I'm convinced that he's somehow figured out my actual aptitude test results.

"Do you have any idea when or how she's gonna make it happen?"

His question - much like many other interactions we've been having - feels almost like a test. My first reaction would be saying that no, I have _absolutely no idea_ , because not even Evelyn knows for sure _how_ Jeanine's planning to coerce an entire faction into attacking another. But I've learnt by now that Eric's never wrong when he thinks I'm capable of rising up to the challenge, which must mean that in some point of the past year, I've already come across the answer I'm looking for.

That thought reminds me that last year, Eric and the other leaders injected the whole faction with something that, according to them, was a tracking serum - which was odd, because I don't remember having ever heard of someone going missing. After coming to the conclusion that it was likely to be some sort of simulation serum, I spent at least a week waiting for something that even remotely reminded me of a simulation to happen, but I just threw that theory aside when nothing extraordinary happened.

I can't think of anything else that could give me any hints, so although I'm not too sure of my answer, I say, "If I had to guess, I'd say it has something to do with those _trackers_ you injected the whole faction with last year." He gives me a startled look, and I hurriedly add, "It was actually a simulation serum, wasn't it?"

"Something like that, yeah." He smiles at me, his eyes glimmering with pride. I remember all the times when his pride made me feel awful, dirty, inadequate - but the way he's looking at me now makes me feel almost giddy. "I don't know exactly how it works," he admits, furrowing his eyebrows as if just the thought of ignoring something makes him feel physical pain. "What I do know is that it supposedly creates a super realistic simulation, to the point that the subjects become completely unresponsive to outside stimuli. They lose all volition and moral boundaries, so the programme can assign tasks to the subjects, and they'll be carried out without hesitation."

"In other words, she designed a mind control serum and she plans on using it to force us into attacking Abnegation and killing everyone."

"Well, _we_ aren't being forced to do anything." He gives me that arrogant, slightly sarcastic look that makes me feel like punching him. "I mean, I willingly joined her, and you're Divergent."

" _Whatever_ ," I mutter, glaring at him - which only makes his cocky smile widen.

"This is actually relevant, considering the attack will be happening after midnight and, to the best of our knowledge, Divergents are fully immune to it."

I frown, trying to connect all the information he's just given me in a way that makes some sense. I must admit, at first I don't understand why he's made a point of telling me the time when the attack is scheduled to happen, but then it dawns on me that if this serum doesn't work on any Divergents at all, running the simulation at a time when we won't be able to notice something's going on is a good way to ensure the vast majority of us will be easily identifiable.

"You'll assign someone to stay behind and kill everyone who hasn't woken up, won't you?" I try to mimic his clinical tone, although saying those words out loud is one of the most difficult things I've ever done. Tori did warn me my life was in danger if anyone found out what I am - and to be completely honest, I'm still waiting for Eric to throw me into the chasm or something - but I don't think anyone could ever be prepared for what he's telling me.

He nods, looking at me with an expression that I can only describe as pity - I didn't think he was capable of feeling that, either. I feel tears welling in my eyes and look down, the instinct of hiding weakness from him kicking in.

"Lucky for you, I've actually claimed the right to kill you," he says, almost cheerfully. I look at him again, all grief suddenly replaced by utter disbelief. "Which means that, even if they did find you hanging around here, they'd just lock you up in my office for the night, and then... Well, let's just say I'm sure there's a lot of potential for a good lie involving the fact that you're _sleeping_ with the guy whose office keys just magically appeared in your pockets."

I smile faintly at him, my brain frantically exploring all the possibilities. If I manage to escape the compound, there's a chance that I'd end up being able to save my parents, or maybe even stop the simulation altogether. The only problem with this plan is that I highly doubt the kind of people who would join Jeanine would ever be loyal enough to follow an order like that.

"That is, assuming your _allies_ are reliable enough to actually leave me to you."

He shrugs. "It doesn't matter how reliable they are, as long as they're afraid of me enough to decide it's better not to challenge me."

I roll my eyes at the arrogance in his voice, but I must admit that he's got a point. He may hate it when I remind him of it, but he did hang Christina over the chasm to teach her a lesson on not quitting; I can't imagine anyone who'd be stupid enough to risk finding out how they'd be punished for not following his explicit orders.

"And what will happen to Abnegation?" I think I already know the answer, but there's a part of me that hopes he'll at least tell me that they'll spare all the members who aren't on the Council.

Of course, that isn't the case.

" _Shoot to kill_." The evenness in his tone makes me feel extremely uncomfortable - I don't think I'll ever be able to understand how he can talk about other people's deaths like it's nothing - but I don't have the strength to argue with him about that, and I choose to just wrap my arms around my legs and stare at the floor, doing my best to keep the tears at bay at least until I can get out of here.

He rests his hand on my lower back, possibly in an awkward attempt at comforting me. There's a part of me that would like to lean into his embrace and melt into his arms, but the distance he's keeping between us suggests this may not be the best approach for this situation.

I understand him, to some extent. The overwhelming pain I'm feeling doesn't come from a scraped knee; it comes from the imminent death of both of my parents - and possibly even my own.

"And then what?" I don't really want to know the answer to that question, especially because I know what will happen after Jeanine rises to power - she'll become a tyrant, but her ruling over the City will only last for a few days before Evelyn starts her own little revolution, using Tobias as her right hand for as long as it's convenient.

"It doesn't matter. We'll stop her before it happens."

"Or die trying," I add, giving him a grim look.

He smirks at me and nods in agreement. "Or die trying."

After a few minutes of silence, he sighs and gets up, his fingers grazing over my back. He grabs a notebook from the pile of papers and manila folders on his bedside table and throws it on the bed by my side.

"This is the full version of of Jeanine's plans," he says, before I get the chance to decide which of the many questions that popped into my mind I should ask first. "Read it. I'll go make us some coffee."

He leaves the room before I even get the chance to say anything, and after a brief hesitation, I gingerly pick up the notebook and open it on the first page. I'm greeted by a _very_ messy-looking diagram, with boxes and arrows and side notes all over the page, his handwriting alternating between barely readable and impeccable. After a few frustrating minutes of trying to decipher how Eric's brain works, I come to the conclusion that Tobias, Evelyn, and I had already figured out most of what he's dubbed 'the main act'. The only information about it that's truly new to me is the date the attack is scheduled to happen.

As far as I can tell, the next few pages describe her contingency plans in excruciating detail, including a handful of new diagrams that I don't even try to understand. I flip through the notebook until a page titled 'hindrances' catches my attention. I think it's fair to assume it's related to his plan, but there are only three items in it, all equally cryptic - my father's name, the words 'location yet unknown', and a barely readable 'making it through'.

I close the notebook with a sigh and take it with me to the kitchen. I watch Eric as he fills two mugs with coffee and proceeds to do the dishes, enjoying the few minutes of normalcy it buys us. When he's done, he gives me a serious look and walks back to the living room, and as I follow him, I'm fully aware that, at least in his opinion, the sooner we get through this conversation, the better.

"Let me get this straight," I say, taking a seat on his couch. "This attack is happening in _two weeks_ , and you expect to somehow sabotage it before anyone dies."

He nods, resting his feet on the coffee table like he hasn't got a care in the world. The casual way he's been acting about all this feels almost unsettling, especially if I take into account the lack of details about his own plan in his notebook - Eric doesn't seem the type of person who wouldn't have a full diagram and a list of contingency plans of his own, which leads me to assume his whole _plan_ is an idea he's come up with in the past 24 hours.

"How can you be so _calm_?"

"Why _wouldn't_ I be? My father's dead, my mother's locked up in the safety of the General Hospital, and I don't have a target in my back. The way I see it, I have nothing to lose."

I frown at him. I still remember last year's Visiting Day and the underlying threat in his voice when he told us that 'we take _faction before blood_ very seriously here', and it feels odd that he'd bring his parents up now. Of course, it could be just a reminder of what _I_ have to lose if we fail, but even so, I'd have expected him to judge me for wanting to protect my parents, instead of supporting it.

"Did you read the contingency plans list?" He asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"I glanced over it."

He looks at me like he's not sure whether he should be amused or annoyed.

"Read it when you get the chance. Please. I'd appreciate your input."

I can't help giving him a baffled look. Eric, asking for someone else's opinions? That's got to be unheard of.

"Basically, Jeanine's tried to predict the likely setbacks," he explains, "and she's dedicated a lot of her time to coming up with backup strategies to work around them. Lucky for us, Jeanine is the queen of all Noses, which means she's pretty much incapable of spending more than five seconds on anything that sounds too _unreasonable_." He rolls his eyes, but whatever judgemental comment that crossed his mind isn't shared with me. "That means that the most logical solution for our little conundrum is-"

"The least logical course of action."

"Exactly." He gives me a proud smile.

"And what would that be?"

"Getting all the Stiffs to spend the night somewhere else, of course."

"Are you _insane_?" I ask. I don't know what sounds more unlikely - him being able to convince the Abnegation to leave their houses to protect themselves or this being enough to stop Jeanine.

"Well, the raid will be rather unsuccessful if there's no one to kill, don't you think?" He gives me a wide smile that makes him look a little deranged. "Jeanine halted the attack last year because she was afraid of how far you and Four would have gone to protect each other, so why wouldn't she be stopped by something this big?"

I stare at him, momentarily unable to form a coherent thought. He can't possibly be serious about Tobias and I being responsible for a year-long delay in Jeanine's plan.

"So, your goal is to just buy us some time?"

"I'll take a semicolon if that's all I can get, but I'm actually going for more of a period kind of thing."

"And how do you expect to accomplish _that_?"

He sighs, his eyes flickering away from mine right before he says, "I don't know."

I cross my arms. Even if Christina hadn't taught me everything she knows about detecting lies, I'd still have noticed the absolute lack of inflection in his voice, the clenching of his jaw, and the way he broke eye contact with me.

"Want to try that again?" I ask, and he gives me the worst impression of an innocent look I've ever seen. "You know, for someone who's always saying how _smart_ I am, you sure are amazing at treating me like you think I'm dumb," I chastise him. "I know you didn't have an epiphany that led you to decide you're one of the good guys now. And honestly, the only thing I care about right now is making damn sure you won't stab me in the back when it becomes more convenient."

"I won't."

"And I desperately want to believe that, but you're making this incredibly hard by _lying to me_." He looks down at his lap, looking both frustrated and embarrassed, which makes it clear that I've hit the mark there. "Let's try again, shall we? How are you going to make sure Jeanine won't try again?"

If I didn't know any better, I'd say I see a hint of fear in his eyes when he looks at me again. I hold his stare, and he takes a deep breath before saying, "I might have to kill her."

I can't help noticing this is the first time I notice any emotion in his voice when he talks about killing someone, and I'm a bit taken aback by how eager he sounds about it. I don't know what she did to him, but it seems to have been enough to make him go from her lapdog to someone who'd probably enjoy watching her bleed to death

"You _might have to_ , or you _want_ to?"

He looks away from me - which is an answer in its own, to be honest - and I watch a million emotions cross his face all at once. I'm a little curious as to what he's thinking, but I decide against asking. We've already had too many uncomfortable conversations today, and we don't need another one.

"Look, I'm sure you have plenty of reasons to hate her guts," I say, in my best conciliatory tone. "But killing her isn't the answer." He rolls his eyes, but the sarcastic comment I was half-expecting never comes. "Eric. I can try to accept that you murdered those people to protect yourself, and I'm sure the Abnegation would consider killing someone for the greater good a grey area, but I'll _never_ forgive you if you kill her out of revenge."

"I know," he whispers, so low I can barely hear him.

"If you care about me _at all_ , you'll make sure there's absolutely no other way to ensure she won't try again," I add, in a much sterner tone. "Is that clear?"

He looks baffled for a second, like he can't believe I dared challenging him, but the surprise gives way to a smirk and a look that makes it pretty clear there's at least a part of him that would like to rip my clothes off - a reaction that makes me extremely uncomfortable, mainly because I can't wrap my mind around it. That look also disappears as fast as it came, leaving behind his usual steely authority.

"Crystal," he says, sounding almost menacing.

"Good." I smile at him, pretending not to notice his tone. "Now, answer my question."

He hesitates for a moment before saying, "As far as I know, there's no other way. But if you manage to find one, I'm all ears."

I look down at the notebook, wondering if I'd be able to find another way - assuming there is one. Eric may be fuelled by some unexplained need for revenge, but he's still one of the smartest people I know. Besides, I know him enough to be sure he'd never let his emotions blind him.

"You'll be executed," I point out, doing my best to hide the dread in my voice. In the past few days, I've found out I actually enjoy his company - when he's not too busy being a jerk to me, that is - and I've grown to like him a lot more than I'd thought I could.

"That's a risk I'm willing to take." His voice sounds brazen, but I can see in his face that he cares about it much more than he lets on.

"I thought you were against dying."

He laughs. "I'm against dying a coward's death. But killing that psycho bitch for what I believe in? That's a fuckton of bravery."

I shake my head, unable to believe my ears. "Your moral code is _absurd_ ," I mutter, getting off the couch. I can almost feel his anxiety as he watches me walk towards the kitchen, and I could swear he lets out a relieved sigh when he realizes I'm not walking out on him.

In all honesty, I don't know exactly why I don't. Between everything he's told me and all the back and forth bantering, this morning has been nothing short of overwhelming, and we both could use a break. But I hope that, the sooner we go over all of this, the sooner we can go back to having some sense of normalcy.

With a tired sigh, I refill my mug and open his fridge, looking for something to eat. After going through the fridge and the numerous cupboards, all I can find is coffee, a vast array of spirits, and a cookie tin filled with drugs.

I go back to the living room to find him chuckling to himself. Judging by the way he looks at me, I'd say he knows exactly what I found, but I don't understand what's so funny, and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't bother explaining even if I asked.

"Don't you have any _food_?" I ask, plopping down on the couch.

"Oh, I'm sorry, do I look like the type of guy who has the time to go _grocery shopping_?" He asks, sarcastically. "The cafeteria should open soon, anyway. Can you wait just a little longer?"

"Sure, why not?" I say, in an equally sarcastic tone, and put my legs on his thighs, making him glare at me.

We don't say anything for a few minutes, while I drink my coffee and he absent-mindedly runs his hand over my legs. The silence between us feels heavy, maybe because we both know we're just postponing a difficult conversation.

"Eric?" His eyes shoot up to meet mine, and he gives me an inquisitive look. "How are you going to make the Abnegation...-"

"Move out for a day?" He smiles at me. "Funny you should ask. I believe you're _familiar_ with a Council member named Andrew Prior."

I laugh. "You want to use me to convince my dad?"

"Yup."

"What ever happened to 'faction before blood'?"

His expression suddenly becomes sombre and he bites his lower lip, playing with the rings. I can tell he's going through some major inner struggle, but then he mutters, "Oh, why the hell not," slides his feet off the coffee table and looks at me.

"Tris, do you have any idea where I was coming from when I found you yesterday?" He asks, his voice so serious, he almost sounds stern. I shake my head. "My mother has been in the hospital for the past year. Every week, I go to Erudite and dress up as a Nose just to see her, because I can't stand the thought of letting her spend her last days abandoned in a hospital room just because her only family had an aptitude that differed from hers."

He hesitates, looking at me like he's daring me to pity him. "As your faction leader, I assure you, some things are worth committing treason for." He smiles at me. "So, how do you feel about paying Mommy and Daddy a visit?"

* * *

 **A/N**

And we finally get Chapter Ten!

I'm so sorry it took me so long to update, but it took me three weeks to realize I was using the wrong POV for this chapter and I had to start it all over. On the bright side, we get _Tris POV_! Don't forget to let me know how you feel about it!

I have super elaborated plans for the next few chapters, but I'll need to get them all written down before I can post them. For that reason, I'm expecting the next update to happen no sooner than mid/late-September (real life has been a bitch, folks), but, hopefully, it will be a three-chapter set - revolving around a trip to Stiffland!

Anyways, thanks for all the love. See you next month!


	11. Chapter 11

**Eleven**

 _(t-minus 15)_

After Tris and I decided to go on a field trip to Stiffland, she left my apartment claiming she needed to get breakfast and sleep a little before we left, and we agreed on meeting by the train tracks at ten before we parted ways.

I told her to take my notebook with her, mostly because I hoped she'd get to read at least some of my notes on Jeanine's plan, and spent half of the morning locked up in my office, hacking into Candor's database so I could read Mommy and Daddy Prior's files. Then, I headed to the leaders' gym, where I spent two hours kicking a punching bag and shooting at targets before I crawled back home and took a long shower.

I gathered as much leverage as I could, I worked out my anxiety, I washed the tension away. But none of that has made me feel any less apprehensive about what we're going to do.

I knew, from the second my mother and I talked about evacuating the Abnegation compound, that I'd need to talk to one of the Stiff leaders, and Andrew's always been my best bet - both because he's the second most influential Council member and because there was a chance I could use Tris to help me ensure he'd be sensible. Still, our professional relationship could be described at best as a 'mutual dislike', and I'm sure he sees me as a hellion who barely deserves his tolerance in formal settings.

And, of course, I also happen to be doing his daughter.

I step out of the shower and wipe the fog off the mirror over the sink, trying to decide just how much I want to impress him - more specifically, if I care about his opinion enough to bother shaving on a _Sunday_. I eventually decide in favour of it, reminding myself that the dark circles under my eyes are already enough to make me look like a zombie, and it might be advisable to put some effort into looking like I actually give a fuck.

If I was a Stiff leader, I'd probably be more inclined to listen to a guy who _doesn't_ look like a punk who's coming straight from a rave.

That thought reminds me of the conversation I had with my mother yesterday, and I wonder if any of the other leaders also see me as 'a child who's faking it until he makes it'. When she first mentioned it, I thought she was just trying to coax me into conforming to her appearance standards, but now I find myself thinking, would it hurt to try? There's at least a handful of rings that I only got because I was determined to reach twenty, so it shouldn't be too hard to part with some of them, at least until I get back from Stiffland.

I rinse the remnants of shaving cream off my face, get dressed, and go back to my bedroom, to pick up the small metal box where I keep my spare jewellery. Staring at my reflection in the mirror again, I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the hardest decision I've ever had to make - how many piercings do I really want to keep, and which ones must go?

One thing I know for sure is that the horseshoe on my septum must stay - it was the first piercing I've ever wanted, a gift I gave myself to celebrate making it to leadership. The ring on my left rook hurt like a bitch and frankly, I wouldn't take it off for anyone but my mother - but exchanging it for the tiny curved barbell I originally got there can't hurt. The spiral on my right tragus, on the other hand, is perfectly disposable - I got it on a dare and only kept it because it would help me reach my numerical goal.

Removing the spikes from my right ear is almost painful - they're definitely my favourite piercings, but anything that's cool by Dauntless standards is way too bold for the dullness of Abnegation. That brings me down to fifteen and, after coming to the conclusion that I still recognize the person I see in the mirror, I remove the rings from my left ear as well.

The rings from my left eyebrow follow suit, after a very mature, 'eeny, meeny, miny, moe'-based process of elimination, leaving me with a total of nine. _Might as well settle on five_ , I tell myself, removing all of the rings from my lower lip and replacing the one in the middle with a horseshoe.

I stare at the safe-ish-for-Stiffland version of myself in the mirror, mesmerized by the fact that I somehow look like someone else, while at the same time looking exactly the same.

As hard as it may be, I have to admit that my mother was right. The piercings may have helped sixteen-year-old Eric tell himself he belonged to this faction, but nineteen-year-old me doesn't need them as much.

Or at least that's what I keep telling myself as I put on my combat boots and leather jacket and walk out of the bedroom. After a brief hesitation, I walk into the kitchen and reach for the cookie tin over the fridge - I still don't know how Tris found it, but her stunned 'oh... my... god' was unmistakable. I pick the pack of cigarettes and, after some rummaging through the remaining contents in search for my lighter, I finally leave my apartment, with five minutes to spare.

I'm leaning against the outer wall of the Pire, halfway through my cigarette, when she walks out, wearing jeans and a loose-fitting t-shirt, her hair pulled back into a messy bun. It reminds me of what she used to wear during initiation, before she got comfortable with the slightly more revealing clothes she seems to be favouring lately.

"Dressed to impress your Daddy, Stiff?" I joke. The look she gives me could almost be described as a death glare, and I could bet Christina's already spent at least an hour criticising her outfit choice.

"Well, _someone_ left _teeth marks_ on my shoulder last night," she says, pulling her collar to the side just enough to show the bright red, O-shaped bruise. She looks legitimately pissed, and I almost feel like apologising - but I don't think I'd be able to refrain from saying I'd do it again on the first opportunity I get, so I opt for keeping my mouth shut.

She straightens her shirt, checks her watch, and comes over to lean against the wall by my side, her arm nearly touching mine.

"Besides, look who's talking. You're almost unrecognisable." She nudges me with her shoulder, probably in an effort to make it clear that it was an innocent, playful comment. Still, her choice of words makes me feel slightly uncomfortable, and I look away, taking a drag of my cigarette as an excuse to avoid her stare. She laces her fingers through mine, rests her head on my shoulder, and adds, "I like it."

I find myself smiling at that, although I don't know exactly why her approval would matter to me at all. Telling myself I only care about her opinion because it's a good way to predict what her father will think, I blow a cloud of white smoke into the air and look at her, my pleased smile being quickly replaced by an arrogant smirk.

"Don't get too used to it. I'm putting them all back the second we get home."

The sound of the train horn drowns out her laugh. We exchange a quick look and she lets go of my hand before we start running, once again in a tacit competition to see who gets in first. We make it into the first car and she leans against the wall by the door, allowing me to grab the handles on both sides of the door and feel the wind whip up against my body.

"Do you know where we should jump?" I shout over the wind, looking at her just in time to catch the amused look on her face.

"Don't you?"

I shrug. "I've never been to Stiffland."

She shakes her head, laughing. "You know, calling them 'Stiffs' in front of my dad won't do you any favours."

I laugh. "How nice of you to assume I'll be the one doing the talking."

"Well, it's _your_ plan."

"And your _father_."

She bites her lower lip and looks away from me, staring blankly at her feet as she slides down the wall, sitting on the floor with her arms around her legs. I frown, momentarily wondering how exactly I managed to fuck up this conversation.

I'd honestly thought she'd be excited to visit her parents, in spite of the circumstances. During my background check this morning, I came across a note in Tris' file saying that Andrew never showed up on Visiting Day last year, which should be perfectly normal, considering he also had a son who transferred to Erudite.

The only problem is, the Stiffs have been banned from Nosetown since last year's Choosing Day, so he clearly wasn't visiting Caleb.

Her dad never showed up because he didn't want to, which must mean that, like many parents of transfers, he wasn't too happy with her choice. My personal opinion on the subject aside, I find it hard to imagine an Abnegation leader making such a selfish decision. I completely understand why she'd be afraid of how he's going to react when she knocks on his door – and more than that, I know that fear much better than I'd like to.

I did go through a very similar situation a year ago, after all.

"You okay?" I ask, nudging her foot with my own. She looks up at me and smiles – the Abnegation smile: tight-lipped, never reaching her eyes, and utterly unconvincing.

At least she didn't try to lie to me.

"Did I ever tell you about the first time I visited my mother?" I ask, sitting on the floor by her side. She looks at me, frowning like she's about to say my question was absurd. "Humour me, Stiff," I demand, sounding deliberately bored.

"No, Eric," she replies, mockingly. "You didn't."

"The day after Job Choosing, Jeanine came over to my office, bringing a box filled with blue clothes and a copy of my mother's medical records." I sigh. "There's, like, a dozen types of cancer that we still consider incurable, and my mom has one of them." I give her a wry smile. I can still remember the exact phrasing of the doctor's notes, saying that my mother's tumour couldn't be completely removed without risking her life.

"The Noses have this incredibly fucked-up list of requirements for euthanasia, so there's nothing we can do about it except wait while her brain pretty much destroys itself." I can't keep the bitterness out of my voice as I add that last part. The Differential Healthcare Act – a set of faction-specific guidelines for medical practice, ranging from preferred form of birth control to issues like euthanasia and abortion – was one of the best ideas of the Council, but it doesn't change the fact that, if my mother was Dauntless, she wouldn't need to endure a slow, painful death.

If she was Dauntless, she could have ended it all a year ago – through death serum or the chasm – and no one would have judged her for it.

Tris grabs my hand, lacing her fingers through mine. "I'm sorry."

I have to pretty much force myself to smile at her, suppressing the urge to tell her I don't need her sympathy.

"What I said last year on Visiting Day, all that shit about not looking too attached and all, I meant it. But as I've said before, I eventually came to the conclusion that what little loyalty I could be accused of having, it wouldn't be damaged by spending a few hours a week with her. Saturdays used to be a special day for us, so I decided I'd go to Erudite on the following Saturday morning."

It's my turn to wrap my arms around my legs. _God, I'd kill for a cigarette right now._

"The train ride to Erudite was...-" I pause for a second, giving her a stern look. "I'll deny it if you ever tell anyone, but I hadn't felt this afraid in years." My expression softens, and I give her my best attempt at an understanding smile. "Of course, I was afraid of what was waiting for me. What if my brilliant, lively mother had become a _shell_? But what worried me the most was, what if she didn't want me there? She never even came to see me on Visiting Day; what would I do if I found out it was because she didn't _want_ to go? I just couldn't stand the thought of being seen as a traitor by my family, especially when I'd left them behind for a faction I never hesitated in betraying."

I look down at my hands, choking up all of my feelings. Most parents – even some of those who bother coming for Visiting Day – consider their children traitors for leaving, and I still remember how it felt to be sure that the only family I still had hated me for my choice, to be afraid that she wouldn't be proud of me because of my ranking and the blood on my hands.

My mother simply shrugged and said it'd have been illogical to expect me to stay, but I know I got lucky - and the proof of that lies in the fact that she once let it slip that my father didn't agree with her on that, and he died without forgiving me for my betrayal.

But I obviously can't tell Tris about _that_.

"Anyway," I look at her, "what I'm saying is, it's okay to be scared."

She cocks her head, looking almost amused. "I'm sorry, I appreciate that you're opening up to me and all, but I'd never thought I'd hear _you_ say that."

I chuckle. "What I tell the initiates and what I personally believe are two wildly different things."

"So you don't believe in fearlessness?"

"Nope." I smile at her. "I believe in freedom from fear."

Her frown almost makes me laugh. This is the same girl who rendered me speechless by quoting the Erudite manifesto; I find it hard to believe she doesn't know her own faction's manifesto by heart.

Then again, I could bet that everything she knows about it comes from Will.

"Freedom from fear, huh?"

"Oh, you know, the real lesson you should've taken from stage three."

She rolls her eyes and mutters something. I can't hear her over the wind, but I'm pretty sure it's something along the lines of, 'I should've expected you'd make it about Four'. I'm not in the mood to argue about Number Boy, though, so I choose to just drop the subject.

I must admit, sometimes my own maturity _baffles_ me.

After about five minutes of silence, I start to get impatient. I may be used to long train rides, since Dauntless is far from _everything_ _else_ in the City, but we haven't even made it to Erudite yet and, judging by how little attention Tris has been paying to the outside world, I'm sure we still have a long way ahead of us.

"Can I ask you something?" I ask, deciding to use our time for something more useful than staring at the floor.

"Yeah?"

"What was it like, growing up in Abnegation?"

She looks really confused for a second, like she can't quite believe she heard my question right. "Why do you want to know?"

"First of all, because all my knowledge about Abnegation comes from the Erudite reports, and-"

"They're mostly lies," she deadpans.

"I know." I smile at her, wondering if she's aware that I know exactly which ones are true – and that I'm responsible for the report about Marcus Eaton being a child-abusing bag of shit. "But I'm sure you know enough about the Noses to understand that I'm not too comfortable with _not_ knowing something."

The way she smiles at me makes it very clear that she knows _exactly_ what I'm talking about, and my questions about her aptitude resurface in the back of my mind.

"What's the second reason?" She asks, dragging me out of my thoughts, and it's my turn to frown at her. "You kind of implied there were other reasons, you know."

"I'm bored." I shrug. "Besides, we've spent the whole morning talking about some really personal shit, yet I still don't know anything about you that can't be found in your file."

"Don't get your hopes up." Her voice sounds almost stern. "There's nothing I could tell you that compares to the things you've told me."

"Still, I wanna know," I insist. "What do Stiff kids do when they're not being bullied in school? Do the really rebellious kids hold hands when they think no one's watching? Do Stiff children play things like hide and seek or tag? Had you ever had cake before you transferred?"

"Your priorities are seriously messed-up, Eric."

She laughs and launches herself into an overview of the childhood of a somewhat normal Stiff. I learn that small children are encouraged to choose quieter leisure activities, such as playing with dolls and toy cars or jumping rope – which she describes as an outrageously loud pastime. As they grow older, however, their parents start pushing them towards less self-oriented behaviour.

I don't know what I'd expected, but it doesn't sound too different from Erudite, aside from the fact that the Noses encourage their kids to engage in developing their intellect, and most of us grow up playing with puzzles and board games instead of dolls and cars.

That's where the similarities end, though. I can barely hide my outrage when she says that reading is frowned upon because it takes precious time that could be better employed performing activities that aren't as self-serving. I thought Erudite sucked for their lack of birthday parties, but the Stiffs don't acknowledge birthdays at all – Tris didn't even know what day she was born until the day she sneaked into the file room to find out. They also don't show affection of any kind, at least not in front of an audience – and it seems that other family members count as an audience to most of them.

Speaking of families, the kind of relationship I had with my parents is all but unheard of in Stiffland. She wasn't even allowed to speak during dinner, because it was supposed to be her parents' turn to talk – and I could bet she wasn't allowed to act too 'self-absorbed' during her own turn.

What surprises me the most isn't what she tells me, but the nostalgic tone in her voice as she says, time and time again, how comforting, peaceful, and orderly it all felt, especially compared to the life she's made for herself in Dauntless.

"I'm not saying I'd go back, because I wouldn't," she says, and I'm not sure who she's trying to convince with that. "But I'm sure you miss the peace and quiet of the Erudite headquarters every now and then." She glances outside and gets up, and the look she gives me is almost an order in itself. "Time to jump."

We land on a stretch of cracked pavement surrounded by decaying buildings on one side and the light grey boxes the Stiffs call 'houses' on the other. It's hard to believe some of the Erudite reports when you see what the Abnegation compound looks like, and I know way too well that Jeanine's best weapon lies in the fact that no one would willingly bother to check.

My heavy footsteps are the only sound I hear as we walk down a street filled with similar-looking houses and matching lawns. Considering all she's just told me about how Stiffs view physical contact, it's almost a surprise when Tris laces her fingers through mine, refusing to let go even as a man walks past us, his eyes silently judging us for our _outrageous_ display of affection.

She stops us a few feet away from a corner, her eyes urging me to keep quiet as her index finger touches my lips. "Listen," she whispers, cocking her head towards the end of the street. I frown, staring at her for a few seconds before I notice the laughter and the childish voices and the unmistakable sound of feet stomping on concrete.

I could bet that if we took a couple of steps forward, we'd see Stiff children playing on the sidewalk.

"I told you," she says, smiling, "they're normal people."

Her smile doesn't falter as we walk around the corner and see a pair of twins who look barely old enough to be in school, playing hopscotch on the cracked pavement in front of a house. They freeze when we walk past them, one of them trying to hide his awed look as they bob their heads at us. Tris subtly greets them back, her wide smile vanishing for a second before coming back in full force.

The reverence in the boy's eyes haunts me as I follow Tris down the street. I'm sure that's the exact same way I looked at Max the first time I saw him, walking into the Great Library on a winter day when I was thirteen. I can't help but wonder if I'll see that boy again ten years from now, this time as an initiate in my faction.

Until now, I'd never really thought about all the lives that are at stake – it's always been, in one way or another, about the _greater good._ Jeanine's always been incredibly honest about the fact that her real goal is eliminating the entire faction, instead of only killing its leaders, and I wholeheartedly agreed that we needed nothing less than a genocide. We couldn't care less about the people; we were far more concerned with an evil we wanted to nip in the bud.

Even after I decided Jeanine should be stopped, saving the entire faction would just be a side benefit. Ridding the world of a crazy tyrant is all I care about – I'd never even considered things like the fact that, if she wins this battle, that little boy will never get to watch his blood sizzle on a bowl of coal.

That was the most important day of my life – hell, it was probably the _best_ day of my life. And I know, the same way I knew I _had to_ become a Dauntless leader – I know I need to make sure that boy lives to see the day I'll dare him to jump off a building.

Tris' hand squeezes mine and she points at a bus stop. "That's where I'd take the bus to school," she says, like it's the most interesting thing in the world. It's such a trivial information that I'm convinced she only brought it up because she wanted to get my attention back, but for the next few blocks, she keeps pointing out all the landmarks from her previous life – the building where she'd pick up new clothes every six months, the place where her mother once broke her arm, the house where Caleb's crush lived.

It makes me start to wonder if she's sharing all that because I've asked her to or because she's trying not to think about what we came here to do.

Before I can reach a conclusion, she stops in front of a house and looks at me, her grey-blue eyes filled with apprehension.

"Is this their house?"

She gives me a small nod, looking down at the pavement. I let go of her hand, deciding that the 'Eric' approach might be the most effective for this situation, and march towards the plain wooden door at the end of the concrete walkway.

"Eric!" She calls me in a hushed voice, her steps finally making a sound as she walks hurriedly behind me. Her hand grabs my arm right as I reach the doormat, making me turn to face her.

"You never told me," she says, her eyes begging me for reassurance. "How did she react when you showed up?"

I wrap my arms around her shoulders, not giving a single fuck about how _scandalous_ the gesture might look to her neighbours, and kiss the top of her head, smiling against her hair as I inhale the scent of her shampoo.

"I came back the next week, didn't I?" I step back and cup her chin, making her look at me. The hint of panic in her eyes reminds me a little of the way all initiates look like right before I inject them with fear landscape serum. "I got your back, Stiff," I promise, giving her a reassuring smile. "You ready?"

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Her lips curl up in a smile and she looks at me again, her eyes now filled with Dauntless determination.

"Let's do this."

* * *

 **A/N**

I know, I know. It's been two months. I'm so so sorry.

Life has been nothing short of hectic, and I've been studying nearly twelve hours a day every day (weekends included), so I haven't had time to write at all. Add to that a major block after the first scene, and you have the recipe for a lot of frustration.

I can't make any promises about when Twelve is coming, but I can assure you that I will not let this story die, so don't give up on me!

On a last note, I'd like to thank **murmelinchen** , who helped me jump over the wall I'd written myself into, and **Felyneve** , who's listened to a fuckton of whining about my struggles. And, of course, a huge thank you to everyone who's stuck with me although I've disappeared (and reappeared with a completely different story).


	12. Chapter 12

**Twelve**

Tris POV

 _(t-minus 15)_

Abnegation is eerily quiet.

Eric's footsteps seem to echo on the silent streets, acting as rather loud reminders that _we do not belong here._ Just thinking about it makes my uneasiness about this whole thing feel even more suffocating, as if it hasn't been threatening to overwhelm me since we left Dauntless, and I find myself lacing my fingers through his, hoping it will bring me some sense of reassurance.

Looking for _Eric_ for support only adds to how unreal this entire situation feels. Not only is he the personification of everything that's wrong in Dauntless, but he's also spent _years_ planning to destroy Abnegation and everything it represents.

And now here we are, walking down the streets of the place I used to call home, heading straight to the place that both of us have reasons to see as the proverbial lion's den.

The sound of laughter catches my attention, and I stop walking, tugging on Eric's hand. He looks at me, his quizzical look suggesting that he's about to ask me what's wrong.

I don't know what takes over me, because the next thing I do is touch his lips with my finger, telling him, in a hushed whisper, to listen. His frown deepens, like he's convinced that I've gone crazy, and that's when I hear a boyish voice saying, "Your turn", followed by a sound that makes me feel right at home – feet stomping on concrete.

Judging by the way Eric's expression softens, I'm sure he's heard it too.

"I told you," I say, unable to hide my smile. "They're normal people."

He smiles back at me, and we walk around the corner to find two boys – neither of whom seems to be older than five – playing hopscotch on the sidewalk. They stare at us, wide-eyed and frozen in place, only breaking out of their daze to greet us, bobbing their heads at us in typical Abnegation fashion.

Greeting them back is an automatic reaction, to the point that I only notice I'm doing it because I see Eric roll his eyes at me.

He looks deep in thought as I lead him down the street, paying so little attention to our surroundings that he doesn't even seem to notice that he's tripped on the cracked pavement twice in less than five minutes.

As I drag him to the middle of the street – because the asphalt is in slightly better condition than the sidewalk – I briefly wonder if that's what Jeanine's mind control serum will do to everyone in Dauntless. Just thinking about it makes my stomach churn, though, and all thoughts about the impending attack are quickly replaced by something even more unpleasant when we walk past Marcus' house.

Flashbacks from Tobias' fear landscape flood my brain, bringing back a thought that's been haunting me for the past year – we spent most of our lives just a few blocks away from each other, and yet, I had no idea what was going on in that house.

Tobias once told me that Eric had somehow figured out at least a part of it while they were still initiates, and I feel a sudden urge to ask him what he thinks of Marcus' actions. For some reason, it feels like his opinion on the matter could finally settle my inner debate on how I should feel about him – condoning what Marcus did would prove he's a complete monster who isn't worth my time, while condemning it could be the redeeming quality I'm so desperately looking for.

I squeeze his hand, ready to ask him about it, but in the fraction of a second that it takes for him to look at me, I change my mind, reminding myself that it's not my secret to tell.

Eric's inquisitive look forces me to find something to say, and the first thing that comes to my mind is a lame comment about a _bus stop_. He gives me and amused look, but his smirk encourages me to point out all the other major landmarks of the Abnegation compound.

It's hard not to compare this with my first day in Dauntless, when Tobias gave us a tour of the compound, showing us places like the Pit, the chasm, the Pire. In Abnegation, we have the building where we'd get new clothes every six months, the place where my mom broke her arm once, and Susan's house.

It's no wonder everyone thinks we're boring.

I stop in front of the house where I spent my whole life, suddenly too scared to walk the few steps to the front door. It's not just my father's reaction that I'm afraid of – I just don't think I'll ever be ready to face how deeply their lives must have changed because Caleb and I left them.

"Is this their house?" Eric's voice is laced with his typical authority, and I nod, looking down at my feet. He may have told me that 'it's okay to be scared', but I keep expecting him to punish me for being a coward.

He sighs and walks towards the door, leaving me behind like I'm nothing but a minor annoyance.

"Eric!" I follow him, nearly jogging to keep up with his long strides. When I finally get close enough to grab his arm, we're already standing on the doorstep, and I realise that, once again, he got me to do exactly what he wanted, without a single second of gentle coaxing involved.

He may be a total jerk sometimes, but I can't say his methods don't work.

"You never told me," I say, in an urgent whisper, as I gather the courage to go through with this. "How did she react when you showed up?"

He wraps his arms around me, pulling me impossibly close to him. I can feel the steadiness of his heartbeat, and it makes me feel instantly better. A wave of warmth washes over me when he kisses the top of my head, and I feel him take a deep breath.

After what feels like forever – and no time at all – he exhales and takes a step back.

"I came back the next week, didn't I?" He cups my chin, making me look into his eyes. Over the past couple of days, I've seen many new sides of Eric, but the understanding and caring look he's giving me right now has got to be the most unexpected of them all.

"I got your back, Stiff," he promises, and I desperately want to trust him. "You ready?"

He's looking at me like he's convinced that I can do this, and I close my eyes, telling myself that I am brave enough to do this, and that Eric's faith in me is only proof of that. Then, I look at him again, sounding far more confident than I actually feel when I say, "Let's do this."

He smiles proudly at me and knocks on the door. In the few seconds that follow, I watch all hints of friendliness disappear from his face, and I'm suddenly standing in front of the Eric I've seen every day for the past year – the ramrod straight posture, the tightly clenched jaw, the cold and deadly glare.

I'd be amazed, if the person standing in front of me wasn't completely terrifying.

My mom opens the door, looking at us in a mix of surprise and concern. Her eyes linger on Eric for a few seconds before she looks at me, not even trying to hide her wide smile.

"Beatrice." She pulls me in for a hug that lasts way too little, and then she steps back, her hands still on my shoulders and her voice filled with worry when she asks, "Is there anything wrong?"

I look back at Eric, unsure as how to answer that question. He clears his throat and takes a small step forward, so he's standing by my side again.

"Good morning, Natalie," he says, in an uncharacteristically pleasant tone. "My name is Eric." He offers her his hand, and she gives him a curious look when she shakes his hand.

"One of the Dauntless leaders, isn't it?"

Eric nods curtly, failing miserably at hiding his proud smirk. "If it isn't too much to ask, Tris and I would like to speak with you and Andrew."

She hesitates, her eyes darting between Eric and I, and it's clear that Eric's words have only made her more worried. He must have sensed it, too, because he adds, "There's no need to worry about your daughter." He glances at me. "Tris is here as my right hand, that's all."

My mom's expression softens and she nods slowly, taking a step back to allow us in.

"I'll get him." She pauses, smiling at me as she adds, "Please, make yourselves at home."

Eric wraps his arm around my waist the second my mom turns her back to us, and he gently nudges me forward, encouraging me to talk into the house. It's only after the door is closed behind us that he moves away from me, heading straight to the family room.

The room looks exactly the way it did for my whole life – plain white walls, a worn-down grey couch flanked by two matching armchairs, a light wooden coffee table. Eric toys with the needles in the basket near the armchair closest to the window, before plopping down on the couch, eyeing his surroundings with the sharp curiosity I'd expect from an Erudite.

"Sit _down_ , Stiff," he commands, patting the empty seat beside himself, and I sigh, walking over to the couch. As soon as I sit down, Eric wraps his arm around my shoulders, and I tense involuntarily when he buries his fingers in my hair.

"You know, I'd always thought my apartment was bland." He tugs gently on my hair, clearly ignoring how uncomfortable it makes me feel. "But this... It's a whole new level of bland." He chuckles. "It's the interior design equivalent of how they dress."

I glare at him, knowing that he meant that as an insult, although he's technically right – the philosophy behind both things is the same, after all.

Still, I can only imagine the cultural shock he must be feeling now, considering that his 'bland' apartment is furnished with dark wood, steel, and leather. Granted, the lack of personal items – aside from a crammed bookshelf in his living room – makes it feel almost sterile when compared to the average Dauntless home, but compared to the standard Abnegation house, it's the epitome of luxury.

Eric tugs on my hair again, a bit harder this time. At first, it seems like he's just trying to get my attention in the most annoying way possible, but I realize I'm being naïve when, with one last tug from him, my hair falls off its bun.

"Leave it," he says, in a tone that almost sounds like an order. "We can't have you looking like a Stiff, now, can we?"

Before I can reply, we hear footsteps coming down the stairs, and suddenly both of Eric's arms are on his lap and there's about five inches of space between us on the couch.

"Good morning, Andrew." Eric nearly jumps to his feet when my parents walk into the room, greeting my dad with a stiff handshake. "I'm sorry to disturb your Sunday morning, but Tris and I have urgent matters to discuss with you and Natalie."

My dad looks like he's about to tell us to get the hell out of his house, but my mom places her hand on his shoulder, whispering his name in a conciliatory tone, and he sighs, giving her the exact same look Eric's been giving me the whole morning – the one that suggests that he's feeling pressured into doing something against his better judgement.

"Please, sit down."

Eric and I sit back down on the couch, and my parents take the armchairs. Between Eric and my dad, it's hard to tell who's less enthused about this situation, and it's far from unexpected that Eric decides not to waste any more time on pleasantries.

"As I'm sure you've heard, Andrew, Jeanine's planning to overthrow Abnegation and seize control of the Council."

"She's been _hoping_ to have that kind of power for her whole life," my dad replies, sounding uncharacteristically annoyed. "And as a _faction leader_ , I'd assumed you'd know that those reports aren't getting her anywhere. There's nothing she could write that could possibly make the Council step down."

"Oh, I know that." Eric leans back on the couch, like he hasn't got a care in the world. "But here's what I also know: there's no such thing as a _peaceful_ coup d'état. Those reports? They're meant to sway the public opinion in her favour, that's all."

A moment of silence follows his words, and I start to regret letting him take the lead in this conversation. Eric is far too arrogant, even when he's obviously trying not to be, and this is the last thing we need if we want my father to listen to us.

I'm still trying to figure out a way to put things in a more diplomatic way when my dad asks, "So, _this_ is why you're here? To threaten me?"

Eric takes a deep breath, and I'm pretty sure he's doing his best to keep his snarky replies to himself. "I'm not here to threaten you, Andrew. I'm simply offering you – and your faction – a chance to survive."

"And why would I ever trust _you_?"

Eric looks at me, his impenetrable expression faltering for just a second to reveal the tiniest hint of vulnerability, and I suddenly understand why he wanted me to come here with him. Less than a week ago, I wouldn't have trusted him with a box of crayons, but now we're keepers of each other's most dangerous secrets.

And it all started with two words: 'trust me'.

"Because I do," I say, doing my best to sound as self-assured as Eric. My dad looks at me, giving me the same amused look that I'm used to seeing on Eric's face when he thinks something is a complete absurd.

"That would mean a lot to me, if I thought I can trust _you_."

His statement feels like a slap in the face, all the more so because of the lack of malice in his voice. It's almost like he's just stating a widely-known fact - one that doesn't even affect him that much.

Before I can say anything, Eric laughs. "That's just _precious_."

My dad looks at him, contempt written all over his face. "And what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"You're being a bit hypocritical, don't you think?" Eric shrugs. His voice is quiet and his words are precise - I've seen him talk like that enough times to know it's the prelude of a storm. "I mean, in _my_ faction, at least, a leader would be the last person to expect their children to choose blood before faction. Not to mention how _illogical_ , and straight-up selfish, that expectation is. Especially coming from someone who's also a transfer."

My jaw drops. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd said that my mom is a former Dauntless, but I can't picture my father in any other faction - not considering how easily selflessness comes for him. Not considering what he feels about people who leave their factions of birth.

Eric smiles at my reaction, his words filled with spite when he asks, "He never told you, did he?"

"Told me what?"

He looks at my dad again, and I know he's choosing his words carefully.

"Your dad was a Nose."

My dad looks furious - if we were in Dauntless, I'm sure he'd have punched Eric by now.

"How _dare_ you-"

"Tell your daughter the truth?" Eric leans forward, his posture as aggressive as his tone. "Well, someone had to."

"It's not your place to decide-"

"As her faction leader, it is _exactly_ my place to decide what's best for her."

"All I _ever_ did was do what's best for her."

"Like denying her the right to know who her own father really was? Making her feel like shit because she was _selfish_ enough to choose her own path, just like you did?" He snorts. "Man, you Stiffs sure have a fucked-up concept of parenting, don't you?"

My dad closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and my mom gives him a concerned look, clearly trying to decide if she should intervene.

"I would love nothing more than watching you try to raise your children differently," my dad says, almost condescendingly. "But until then, you have absolutely no right to talk about how I raised mine."

Eric scoffs. "You're right, I don't have children. But one thing I know: I'd be _so fucking proud_ if I had a daughter like Tris. She is one of the bravest people I know, and she'd _never_ put her ego above other people's needs." He rests his hand on my knee, which, I assume, is his way of showing me that he truly means that. "Which is a lesson you'd do well to learn, before you get you all killed - you and her both."

He gets up, his impenetrable expression making it hard for me to figure out what he expects me to do. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm sure I can find something more useful to do with my time." He turns to face me. "I'll be waiting for you outside." He pauses for a fraction of a second, then adds, " _Tris_."

He storms out, leaving the three of us frozen in shock. In the few seconds before he slams the front door, I find myself mulling over the way he said my name before he left – with the possessive, menacing tone he uses to boss people around in Dauntless. I can't help but see it as a reminder of who I am – who I _chose_ to be.

But I know better than to assume he's just empowering me and trying to make me remember that I'm entitled to stand up for myself – his underlying threat makes it clear that his Visiting Day speech still applies.

"I'll go talk to him," my mom says, softly. When neither of us protests, she gets up and walks out of the room, leaving my father and I alone.

We sit there in silence for what feels like hours, ignoring each other's gaze – not that there's much we could be looking at instead. I know one of us will need to be the bigger person, but although I normally wouldn't have issues with taking that role, Eric brought so many things up that I don't even know where to begin.

Thank god, my dad eventually decides to break the silence.

"Beatrice." His tone is exactly the same as I've heard my whole life – complete with the slight detachment that's typical of the Abnegation. I look at him, trying to mimic Eric's emotionless expression. "Your mother and I...- I'm sure you understand why we never told you or your brother that we are transfers."

I just nod. Even in Candor, people hardly ever talk about their lives before Choosing, because talking about our former factions is seen as a sign to attachment to it, and being attached to a faction other than the one you chose could put your loyalty in question. In Abnegation, where any kind of talking about yourself is frowned upon, it'd be unrealistic to expect parents to talk to their children about it.

I understand all that. I really do. What I don't understand is why he's spent my whole life acting like transferring is an act of betrayal, when he did it himself.

Maybe I've been spending way too much time with Eric, but I can't help seeing his hesitation as cowardice – I can almost _hear_ him saying that 'a brave man acknowledges his guilt, _and grows from it_ '.

"We worry about you, Beatrice. Your safety. And you showing up on our doorstep with _him_ ; it makes me doubt-"

"I trust him," I state, defiantly. "You may not like him, but I trust Eric with my life."

My dad studies me for a few moments, and it's clear that he knows exactly what I meant, because all he says is, "He knows." It isn't even a question, but I nod, slowly, Eric's words echoing in my head – if my father chooses not to cooperate, I'll end up dead.

"And what does he know about Jeanine?"

I tell him everything Eric told me this morning, along with some of the things Four and I have found out over the past year. He listens to everything I have to say, asking me a million questions and growing more and more worried with each new piece of information.

Finally, when there isn't anything left to say, he asks, "And what does Eric think he can do to stop it?"

I hesitate – in all honesty, I'd been hoping I wouldn't have to answer this question. I have no idea what Eric's full plan entails, but admitting that would sound like we aren't taking this issue as seriously as we should. Which is the last thing we want, considering all that was involved in getting him to listen to us.

As if on cue, Eric chooses this moment to walk back into the room, once again taking for himself the task of saying the things no one wants to hear.

"Hide you." He pauses, smiling wryly at my mom. "And hope for the best."

* * *

 **A/N**

I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!

I'm sorry it took forever and a half for this update to happen, but aside from three tests next week, I'm done studying _forever_ (or until March, at least). I was hesitant about posting this chapter now because I really wanted a double update, but I just couldn't bring myself to proofread it one last time - it's been written, edited, rewritten and edited again about a thousand times.

Anyway, Thirteen might come some time within the next ten days. It's definitely happening between the month is over.

I hope it was worth the wait!


	13. Chapter 13

**Thirteen**

 _(t-minus 15)_

The door slams behind me, the sound echoing in the deathly silent street – the kind of dramatic exit that is far from what I'd planned for this visit. With a sigh, I sit on the doorstep, reaching for the pack of cigarettes and the lighter in my pocket and praying that Tris won't keep me waiting out here for too long.

In all fairness, I can't say Andrew's attitude towards me was entirely unexpected. In fact, I'd always been well aware that it was naïve to expect him to move past his preconceived idea of me, especially when my past behaviour has done nothing to change it.

Still, I'd _hoped_ he would. I'd hoped that, by making an actual effort towards not acting like a belligerent, unreliable _child_ , I'd get to be treated as something other than that.

And now I only have myself to blame for being stupid enough to believe that.

Not that I think I should feel guilty for exploding, because I don't. The past three years have taught me a lot about swallowing my pride and carefully picking my battles, and I walked into that house knowing this was the moment when those skills would be needed the most. For that reason, I'm confident I'd have been able to keep my behaviour irreproachable throughout the entire conversation, if it wasn't for the way he treated Tris.

Because being an asshole to _me_ , I can understand. But treating _his daughter_ like shit, when she did absolutely nothing wrong? That's _inadmissible_.

I hear the door clicking behind me, but I don't bother looking back - I'm not in the mood to have Tris berate me, and I'm even less in the mood to hear what Andrew or Natalie might have to say. Out of the corner of my eye, I see legs clad in a light grey skirt walk down the step and, much to my surprise, Natalie unceremoniously sits beside me.

"Storming out and leaving other people to deal with the aftermath of your actions. Sounds like the Eric I've heard about." Her voice is stern, with the slightest hint of disappointment - she sounds almost like a parent lecturing their child, but not in a way that makes me want to punch her. Then, in a much gentler tone, she adds, "Which is a pity, really, because the Eric I'd imagined is nothing like that."

It takes all my willpower to refrain from laughing, and I don't even try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice as I reply, "Well, it seems that failing to meet expectations is one of my many talents."

She clicks her tongue and shakes her head. "Self-deprecation doesn't become you, child."

I snort, biting back an unnecessarily mean comment about how I'd always thought Stiffs were all about belittling themselves, and take a long drag of my cigarette while I wait for her to decide to tell me what she's doing here.

When she does speak again, it's to ask me, "Is my mother still alive?"

I look at her, frowning. As casually as she may have said it, I doubt filial attachment could be the only motivation behind her question, but I can't seem to figure out what other reasons she might have to ask me that.

Deciding to humour her, I nod. Although I only glanced over Natalie's file, the Dauntless watermark on her birth certificate caught my attention, and I found myself reading through it out of sheer curiosity – only to find _Margo's_ name neatly written in the parents section.

"I'm pretty sure she'll outlive us all," I add, laughing. Margo has implied, more than once, that she had plans of postponing her retirement for as long as she can, in the hopes of seeing me being replaced as the leader responsible for initiation, and I don't have any doubt that she would go through with it out of pure spite.

Natalie smiles. "You know, I've never seen her look less than overwhelmed by her job. More often than not, she'd use words like 'spread thin' or 'wound up tight'... 'suffocating', even, on the really bad days." She sighs, like this brings back a series of unpleasant memories. "What I'm saying is, your job is tough. Andrew? He doesn't understand what it's like. But I know what kind of pressure is put on your shoulders every day, and I've seen what it does to people twenty years older than you. And I'm sure that, whatever your _side activities_ are, they've been taking their toll on you, too. So, honestly, I can't say I'm surprised that you act like you could snap at any second. I _know_ you could."

I look away from her, reluctantly mumbling, "Thanks." She may be a Stiff – and Stiffs may have to act all empathetic at all times – but the only other person who's ever told me she understands me was my mother.

"Now, are you gonna tell me what's going on? I mean, a Dauntless leader, swallowing his pride and asking a Stiff for help? It's that bad, huh?"

I'd have probably laughed at that, if she wasn't absolutely right.

"It doesn't matter." I shrug. "Not without Andrew's help."

"Now, who's underestimating who?"

I'm not sure if she's referring to herself or to Tris, but either way, that is convincing enough to make me look around, looking for cameras or any signs of nosy neighbours. There's nothing in sight, but I still keep my voice low as I say, "There will be an attack. She'll use a serum that-"

"Save the explanations for the Erudite, Eric," she says, almost like it's an order. "Just tell me what I need to know."

Her straightforwardness is surprising – I'd expected her to have a reaction similar to Tris', but instead, she seem to be approaching this situation like a Dauntless leader is trained to.

I definitely can't say I saw any of this coming.

"It's scheduled to happen in two weeks. The soldiers will leave Dauntless at around midnight, so they should be arriving at half past one, at the latest."

She shakes her head slightly. I could bet that the thought that just crossed my mind is similar to what Max and I have repeated a thousand times to Jeanine – as _logical_ as it might be, the timing for this attack couldn't be more cowardly if we tried.

"Numbers?"

"The whole faction."

Her eyebrows furrow for an instant, and I can tell she's putting all the pieces together, because she suddenly says, "They'll all be under a simulation," not even waiting for my confirmation before she asks, "And you can't stop it, can you?"

"Not without getting caught."

The way she looks at me makes it clear that she's aware that Jeanine would have me killed if she found out I'm trying to sabotage her attack, and I must admit, I'm relieved that she's not judging me for not wanting to die in vain.

"What I _can_ do," I add, "is get you all out of here. Take you somewhere safe." I sigh. "Not that I know how I'll convince _your_ faction to follow _me_."

"How about you let _me_ worry about that?"

Her tone reminds me a bit of the way Jeanine talks to me when she's doing her best not to call me stupid, but I know that calling her out would get me nowhere, so I decide against it. We sit in silence for a couple of minutes before she says, "I hope you don't mind me asking, but we both know that if you were selfless enough to do all this for no personal gain, you'd be wearing grey and basking in the bliss of ignorance, so I keep wondering, what's in it for you?"

"Does it matter?"

She gives me a murderous glare that looks exactly like they way Margo looks at me when she thinks I'm being particularly intractable.

"If you expect me to trust you not to lead me and my faction into a trap, then yes, it does matter."

"I'm not trying to trick you into walking into a trap," I reply, unable to hide my annoyance. "I wouldn't have involved Tris in this if I was."

She studies me for a few seconds, then nods. "I know," she says, her tone somewhere between patient and patronizing. "But I'd appreciate an answer that doesn't involve your feelings for my daughter."

I glare at her, torn between asking her why the fuck she'd accuse me of having feelings for Tris and telling her to fuck off for saying something so preposterous. But I can't blame her for being suspicious, and as much as I'd like to avoid it, I know that some kinds of information are supposed to be shared.

Besides, by blindsiding Natalie I'd be doing exactly the same thing that Jeanine did to me – for much less acceptable reasons.

"Honestly? She lied to me about why she was doing this, and I want revenge."

She nods, almost solemnly, and I wonder if she understands how serious it is to accuse the Erudite leader of lying – and if she knows that 'revenge' and 'murder' mean pretty much the same thing, in this situation.

"Well, thank you for your candour," she says, smiling. "In that case, I can talk Andrew into cooperating, if Bea- If _Tris_ hasn't accomplished that, already. Do you know where you'll hide us?"

"I have no idea," I admit. "One week ago, I was helping plan the attack, so I haven't had much time to think things through."

"Well, if that helps, I can give you numbers. I'm sure it'd be useful to know how many people you need to hide. And how many of those are kids, old, _disabled_."

I curse under my breath. After three years living in a faction with no space for _mobility issues_ , it's just too easy to forget they exist.

"Thanks. I'd appreciate that."

"I do have one demand, though." She get back on her feet. "I want to help protect my people."

I get up, giving her a confused look. "You mean like-"

"Guns," she says, in a disturbingly casual tone. "I want guns."

I can't keep the pride out of my voice as I say, "That can be arranged."

"Thank you." She opens the door and steps into the house. "Oh, and Eric? Don't you _dare_ mess with my daughter."

* * *

 **A/N**

So, is anyone else thinking about starting a Natalie Prior fan club? I've always had the feeling that she's an underrated badass in the books, and I just couldn't help giving her the chance to shine.

My special thanks to The Boyfriend, who helped me turn this from an episode of Gilmore Girls into something more fitting for the style of the rest of the story. And of course, thank you so so much for all your lovely reviews and follows and favourites! Can you _believe_ we're almost reaching 100 reviews?

Also, with this update I achieve my mini-goal of updating at least twice in January. I'll try to update twice next month too, so keep your fingers crossed!


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